


Alterlife

by cosmicruin



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Magical Realism, Parallel Universes, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26274034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicruin/pseuds/cosmicruin
Summary: Last time Jongin checked, he and Oh Sehun were involved in a long-standing rivalry, not a loving marriage.
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai & Oh Sehun, Kim Jongin | Kai/Oh Sehun
Comments: 36
Kudos: 151
Collections: EXO Home4U - 2020





	Alterlife

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [Home4U](https://twitter.com/exohome4u) Round 2020, Prompt #435. Prompt goes as follows:
> 
> _Jongin's power evolved from teleporting to teleporting into parallel universes. But in one of the universes he finds that he is married to his long-time rival Oh Sehun. Now he cannot see him the same way anymore._
> 
> My infinite thanks to the mods who were very patient and generous with extensions.
> 
> I absolutely enjoyed working with this prompt! Take note of relationship tags and additional tags, those are important and will make sense as you read along. Enjoy!
> 
>  **Original post date and reveal date:** September 3, 2020

The assorted pains and aches spreading through his body were what prodded him awake.

Sobering relief washed over him upon feeling a bandage on his head; the soreness of his ribs with each drawn breath. It took longer to register his right arm was encased in a cast. Panic stirring in his gut, Jongin squinted against the blinding lights first before slowly opening his eyes again. His vision was blurry at first, then focused on the arm in question. It was bandaged from knuckles to elbow. He winced at the pinpricks of pain when he tried raising his arm. He might not do anything useful with it for some time.

Injured, achy, one arm temporarily out of commission—disregarding these negatives, Jongin was nonetheless grateful he came out of the incident alive. He could do without the stringent scents of antiseptic and alcohol assaulting his nose, or the starch-white sheets and bright lights overhead set on blinding him if he looked up too long; but he wasn’t one to be choosy about hospital rooms. He was here, breathing, in one piece, and those were more than enough.

Jongin sank back into the mattress and closed his eyes; took steady, deep breaths. Attempted summoning the last few moments before he landed in the hospital. Splintered memories surfaced in no particular order but lacked clarity, shrouded by a fog that wouldn’t clear. The harder Jongin tried to reach for them, the dull ache in his temples increased. Vaguely he wondered if he hit his head too hard at one point, or if he should forego any thinking for now.

The door bursting open jolted him back to the present. Jongin shot up immediately, ignoring the protests of aching muscles. His once foggy mind now spun, threatening to overload.

“ _Oh Sehun?_ ” Jongin screeched, in complete shock.

More shocking was Oh Sehun’s apparent surprise he had uttered his complete name, further confusing Jongin. This wasn’t new to them.

A thousand times more shocking was Oh Sehun’s slow approach to his bedside, form trembling, face showing pronounced relief. It was one thing to be within close range for reasons of necessity; it was another for Oh Sehun to openly show emotions aside from nonchalance and smug triumph.

Jongin’s head pounded with an incoming headache. What was this puzzling situation? Why would Oh Sehun be here? Did he bring him to the hospital? If so, it didn’t explain the glassy quality Oh Sehun’s eyes took the longer he gazed at Jongin, or why he was suddenly reaching out for him, movement looking suspiciously natural.

Jongin slapped away Oh Sehun’s hand before it could land anywhere on him. He might be injured, confused, and overwhelmed, but it didn’t mean he’d gone far off grid to allow contact.

Oh Sehun’s astonished face should’ve been satisfying, except he looked highly perplexed. Hurt, even, that Jongin refused his advances.

“Hello, Mr. Oh,” came the doctor’s cheerful greeting from the door. He was a middle-aged man with an affable face and a stout figure. He looked from Oh Sehun to Jongin then back again. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Why would you be interrupting anything?” Jongin blurted out before he could stop himself.

The doctor chuckled as he closed the door behind him. “It’s good to see you’re awake now, Mr. Kim. You’ve been unconscious for three days. You were caught in a horrific traffic accident.”

The doctor’s words unlocked related memories: screeching tires, terrified screams, the ear-splitting blare of a horn. Tried as he might, Jongin couldn’t form the complete picture yet. He was still lost. “I was out for that long?”

“I will be honest with you, Mr. Kim: escaping the accident with a broken arm and a gash on the side of your head are miracles in themselves. Any other individual wouldn’t have been as lucky, considering the scale of the wreckage. I am personally glad and surprised you have avoided both somehow. Your husband has been worried sick about you.”

Jongin raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have a husband.”

The doctor looked a mixture of surprised and confused.

“What do you mean you don’t have a husband?”

Jongin’s retort died on his tongue the moment he glimpsed Oh Sehun’s face drained of color—a look he seldom saw on him, but not one he felt to celebrate at the moment. His rebuttals completely evaporated as his traitorous mind chose to focus on the distress injected in Oh Sehun’s voice and words in his follow-up statements:

“You _do_ have a husband. I know you’re upset with me, but you don’t have to lie about our relationship.”

“Are you deaf?” Jongin snapped, irritation getting the most of him. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I would know more than anyone else about my personal relationships, not an outsider like you.”

“Now, gentlemen, no need to argue,” the doctor said, placing himself in the space between, expression staying pleasant.

Oh Sehun turned to the doctor when he spoke next. “What is the meaning of this?” He gestured toward Jongin, a hasty movement. “Doctor, I asked you several times if something was wrong. You told me no.” His voice carried an accusatory tone, and a tinged heartbroken.

Jongin shifted a little uncomfortably in bed hearing this; irritation, dissipating a fraction.

“Mr. Oh, I didn’t lie to you when I said that,” the doctor answered, patient and calm. “If you recall, I said that unless he awakens, there is no way to determine if something might be wrong. Delayed symptoms and afflictions, if any, tend to come out after months. I can run some tests to determine whether or not he has memory loss—”

“Excuse me?” Jongin exclaimed, bewildered, drawing both men’s attention. “I am right _here_ —stop talking like I can’t hear you. Nothing’s wrong with my memory. I don’t need to be tested.” Who did these people think they were, dictating what he was or wasn’t?

“No, something _is_ wrong,” Oh Sehun countered. A determined fire seemed to have been rekindled in him, despite appearing ready to crumple any given second. “If nothing’s wrong with your memory, you wouldn’t have slapped my hand.”

“Because you’re not! God, what the hell is wrong with you?” Irritation filled Jongin once more. The pounding in his temples was worsening. This conversation was heading nowhere.

“Now, gentlemen, shouting is prohibited within hospital premises.” The doctor sounded serious, prompting Jongin to back off. It didn’t stop him from frowning in silence, however. Tension dispelling, the doctor turned to Oh Sehun and said, “Mr. Oh, Mr. Kim looks agitated enough as he is being bombarded with suspicions and questions. He’s newly awakened—surely your other inquiries could wait, hmm? Let me handle this in your place.” When the doctor spoke next, he addressed Jongin. “Mr. Kim, if you’re not feeling unwell, I want to ask you a few questions.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“Do you recognize this man standing with us here?”

“Of course. His name is Oh Sehun. I’d never forget that.”

For the first time since arriving, the tiniest smile formed on Oh Sehun’s face. Jongin thought it weird.

The doctor nodded. “We’re off to a great start! Do you know when his birthday is?”

“April 12, 1994.”

The smile completely dropped from Oh Sehun’s face. A thicker, more uncomfortable tension fell over the room.

The doctor looked from Jongin to Oh Sehun, eyes alert in case something escalated. “Are you not thrilled he remembers the basics, Mr. Oh?” he asked, cautious, effectively breaking the silence.

Oh Sehun’s expression took on a wistful quality. When he answered the question, his gaze never strayed away from Jongin’s face.

“My husband has really bad memory with dates.”

☆彡

Days after the literal and metaphorical rude awakening, the doctor ran additional tests as promised. None of them proved Jongin might be suffering from memory loss. Oh Sehun insisted on repeated tests, adamant that something might have gone awry during the process. Jongin stood by the opinion the doctor should be awarded an award for extending his patience as long as he could—never did he imagine Oh Sehun’s tenacity to be proven right ran so strongly, albeit displaced.

Aside from the broken arm requiring care for an approximate six to eight weeks, the gash on the side of his head already healed up nicely. The minor pains scattered through his body had long gone or faded. Some aches remained and would require a relatively longer recovery. The doctor ordered Jongin not to overexert himself and take plenty of bed rest for the time being, and to head for the hospital at once if the pain persisted.

When the doctor proclaimed he could leave the next day, Jongin delighted at the prospect of being discharged. There was no reason for him to stay in the hospital any longer. His celebration was short-lived catching Oh Sehun giving him a long, searching look.

“Are you really sure you don’t recognize who I am?” Oh Sehun asked, once the doctor departed. His voice was soft but filled with hope and despair in equal parts that messed with Jongin’s head.

“How many times must we go through this?” Jongin no longer held back in showing his exasperation. He had known no peace since waking up; it seemed Oh Sehun’s mission to ask him the same question on each visit. At this rate, he could sound like a broken record, and Oh Sehun would still stubbornly refuse to listen. Understand. “I know who you are. If you’re waiting for me to acknowledge you as the husband I supposedly have, it’s never going to happen. For one thing, I was _never_ married. Another is that why, of all the people existing in this world, would I marry _you_?”

“I just don’t understand,” Oh Sehun said, brows furrowing. A touch of frustration crept into his words. “MRI and CT scans came back clear, all other related tests showed nothing wrong… but you don’t know who I am to you. Why? Are you… are you that upset with me? Have I hurt you so deeply you want nothing to do with me anymore?”

Jongin was curious why Oh Sehun was struggling to keep his expression put together, but anger proved stronger. “Now listen here: I might despise your guts, but I would _never_ put this much effort into getting back at you. Caring for our bodies all year round is mandatory—you should know this without me speaking about it. Do I look like someone who’d endanger himself on purpose? What do you take me for? If you don’t want to believe the doctor and the test results, that’s on you; but leave me out of”—he waved his hand to help him articulate, but in vain—”whatever this is.”

Victory had never tasted sweeter than witnessing the slow unfurling of shock on Oh Sehun’s face.

Jongin barely savored the sweetness of his victory as it turned sour fast, courtesy of Oh Sehun’s misty eyes and crestfallen frown. “Never mind. I believe you.”

Oh Sehun didn’t pursue the issue further; stopped asking related questions after. Though pleased he needn’t entertain foolish inquiries any longer, a pesky voice in Jongin’s head scolded him for going too far. Oh Sehun continued visiting him, which was admirable for someone who’d been chewed out. The apologies Jongin readied every time never left his mouth; subsequent interactions painfully polite, limited, stilted.

The discharge process breezed by unlawfully fast. Jongin could hardly believe he was finally leaving the hospital. The doctor told him he could’ve left sooner since the broken arm wasn’t too serious an injury and wouldn’t require surgery. It was the additional tests that held him back for two days. Nothing was better than finally escaping this suffocating room and Oh Sehun’s presence.

Jongin wondered why his family wasn’t alerted of his predicament, then remembered his phone might’ve been collateral damage during the accident. On top of that, they had flown overseas two days ago for a summer getaway in Hawaii. He could’ve joined them if he wanted, yet he chose to stay behind for training purposes, which they understood and encouraged. If they couldn’t get a hold of him, they’d most likely chalk it up to him losing his phone for the umpteenth time. Right now, Jongin was unsure if he should ride with this narrative or tell the truth. The bandaged arm was easy to hide, but his mother wasn’t gifted with sharp intuition for nothing.

A nurse dropped by earlier to return his belongings. One was a wallet he knew didn’t belong to him. Jongin should return it; instead, curiosity compelled him to open the wallet. What greeted him was an identity card with his name and photograph on it. Jongin stared at the photo—transfixed, baffled. There was no denying this was his face, but the hair and clothes were different. The birthdate printed on the card was his, but the last seven numbers that completed the social security number he recited countless times through his life were not his own.

Launching a new set of questions was the driver’s license slotted in one of the compartments. Like the other card, the photograph was different, though it bore his face. The birthdate was the same. The address was most definitely _not_ what he remembered writing down. He lived in Cheongdam, so why did his address state Yeouido?

Icy unease slithered through Jongin’s veins upon checking the back of the driver’s license. Oh Sehun was listed as his emergency contact. The address suggested they lived in one house.

Who the hell was this Kim Jongin that was clearly _not_ him?

Head swimming with a million questions, Jongin set aside the wallet. He’d parse this befuddling discovery at a later date.

The other items returned were his clothes, laundered and torn in some places. Clothes he had difficulty changing into, particularly the shirt since it lacked buttons. Jongin’s broken arm and some sore body parts impeded his mobility—what took less than a minute of dressing lengthened to more as he struggled with the shirt.

Cue Oh Sehun’s perfect timing of entering the room while he was caught in an odd angle with his shirt stuck halfway through.

“Can’t you knock?” Jongin snapped, heat scoring his cheeks more from irritation than embarrassment.

Oh Sehun gave him a blank look and held up the paper bag Jongin didn’t see him carrying at first. “I brought you some of your clothes. Closed shirts with narrow sleeves aren’t advisable for your broken arm.”

Jongin scoffed. “What makes you think I’m going to wear anything that came from you? I’m not your charity case.”

Oh Sehun breathed out a long, impatient-sounding sigh. “Will you please stop arguing with me about everything? I want to help you, but your hostility is honestly making it hard.”

“So don’t help me,” Jongin countered, slowly seeing red.

Oh Sehun’s shoulders sagged, defeat lining his face. “I can’t do that,” came his honest admission. He uttered the words so softly Jongin had to strain his ears to catch them; surprisingly killed his simmering rage. “I don’t know why you’re being mean, or why all this is happening still, but I would never forsake you.”

Jongin was growing to dislike Oh Sehun’s ability of throwing curve balls at him one after the other. Setting aside his vexation, he did have a point about the clothes. Not that he’d let it be known and give him the satisfaction of being right. Begrudgingly, he thrust out his good hand. “Well? Are you giving me those clothes or not?”

He never paid much attention to materials or brand names, but even Jongin could recognize a high-quality shirt when he saw one. The sleeves were loose enough for him to insert his broken arm through the holes with minimal pain and effort. He caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror while buttoning the shirt and thought, with some fascination, that it was an item he would have personally bought if he had the money.

Jongin shook his head furiously. Admiring a shirt and dreaming of buying something similar was alright. Oh Sehun possessing an ounce of knowledge about his taste in clothes? Unsettling.

Upon exiting the hospital, Jongin mustered enough courage to block Oh Sehun’s path on the way to the parking lot; momentarily relished in his tiny victory of turning the tables and surprising him for once. The words he rehearsed over and over played in his head; the task he told himself he’d do and wouldn’t chicken out from echoing stronger by the second.

“Look, I’m aware I’ve been unbearable. I’m aware I’ve crossed the line a few times, too. And… I’m sorry.” Jongin ducked his head saying the last two words. The cool afternoon breeze swept past but did nothing to help his flaming cheeks. In the subsequent silence, he dared a look at Oh Sehun’s face

Oh Sehun’s countenance was carefully blank, though the softness of concern was ever-present in his eyes. “I can’t say I wasn’t hurt. But you know what hurts more? That there’s a high possibility you’ve truly forgotten who I am. It’s like you’ve become another person entirely, and it’s… it’s a hard situation to accept.”

Jongin expelled a deep breath; conjured leftover patience. “We’ve gone through this conversation so many times in the past I don’t know what else to tell you. You insist I’m your husband. Well, I can confidently say I’m not. I don’t even know if I want to get married at this point in my life. I’m not sure if this is some kind of elaborate prank, but I don’t wish to engage any longer. I’m done playing along. I just want to go home and sleep this all off. Maybe the universe will right itself when I wake up. Thanks for all you’ve done. Don’t worry; I’ll pay you back for everything. Just… don’t use this against me in the future. ” With a clumsy bow, Jongin turned to leave.

“Wait, where are you going?” In three strides, Oh Sehun managed to fall into step with him.

“The bus stop.”

“But what will you use to pay for bus fare?”

Jongin wasn’t proud about abruptly stopping in place, or the sobering reminder of his current lack of finances. The wallet he supposedly owned contained neither cash nor a T-money card. Walking was an unpleasant alternative if he wanted to pass out from exhaustion, hunger, and dehydration before or after reaching his destination.

His trump card poked at him from the back of his mind—persuasive, tempting. Jongin smothered it. He’d rather use that for emergencies. Although his current situation qualified as one, a lurking doubt inspired him to reconsider. The bulk source of it came from the information the cards presented him.

Another idea surfaced. If he took it, Jongin could settle some of his suspicions. He surely disliked having to spend more time around Oh Sehun, but practicality won over his pride.

Oh Sehun appeared genuinely surprised when Jongin put forward his request. “What do you need to check in Cheongdam? I don’t want you tiring yourself out if it can wait.”

“I need to confirm something with my own eyes.” Jongin told him. “What I might or might not see there will determine what I do from here on out. So, tell me now if you’re going to take me there or not. We’re wasting time.”

An awkward silence accompanied them on the drive to Cheongdam. Never in his years of knowing Oh Sehun did he predict sharing a vehicle with him would happen one day. Jongin opted to look out the window, focusing on the sceneries of modern infrastructure interspersed with nature. Admiring the view obstructed any and all chances of Oh Sehun engaging conversation with him.

Whatever hope Jongin held escaped from his grasp the moment the car came to a slow stop at the curb. He got out of his seat; stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed. The address existed, except the eight-storey apartment building he anticipated to find was nonexistent. On the very plot of land it was erected stood a cozy café with a pink and yellow color scheme, bright pastels and fun designs on its storefront signage standing out in this alley among establishments painted with darker tones.

“This is the place you wanted to check?” Oh Sehun asked, once he stood beside him. He inspected the building and looked as confused as Jongin felt.

“Are you sure you didn’t mistype the address? Are you sure your app is updated?” Deep down, Jongin already knew asking was futile. He closely watched Oh Sehun type it on Naver Map, and triple checked it before leaving. The stark absence of his apartment building was the confirmation he sought for. It didn’t mean he agreed with the proof.

He suddenly felt lightheaded. Whether from the revelation he was technically homeless or the fact he couldn’t think straight remained to be seen, but Jongin had no time for thorough dissection as his knees buckled. He lacked the strength to push away Oh Sehun, who steadied him immediately, asking if he was alright, voice brimming with concern.

Jongin had no recollection of his return to the car, or if he responded to any of Oh Sehun’s gentle inquiries. By the time his mind stopped reeling did he register the drastic change in their surroundings. The absence of crowds was one. The increase in trees, towering apartments, and rows of posh houses with fancy gates or manicured lawns was another. Unmistakably the Yeouido neighborhood where Oh Sehun and… whoever it was that had Jongin’s name and face on the cards lived.

The house from the outside was magnificent; the interior twice more, palatial and picture perfect in every angle. Stepping inside was a surreal experience and offered Jongin a glimpse of what a millionaire’s household looked like. Every corner was tastefully decorated and, oddly enough, carried a personal touch. Jongin couldn’t tell why or how he noticed. Perhaps the homey colors of the decor or the fresh flowers in the vases influenced his opinion. Large houses tend to give off a cold, detached atmosphere. Whoever lived in this house with Oh Sehun seemed to offset it by using vibrant stimuli and building a comfortable environment.

In the living room was a piano; on the walls hung framed photographs. Jongin shouldn’t have been as flabbergasted as he was looking at pictures of someone his splitting image and Oh Sehun in assorted locations through various stages of their lives. Common chords among these pictures were the nonexistent space between their bodies standing close; arms around each other’s shoulders or waists; holding hands; identical, contented smiles. Jongin’s shock mounted perusing each frame; frown worsening as the bone-chilling realization dawned on him that he couldn’t remember _any_ of these pictures or moments, yet proof of them happening otherwise was right in front of his face.

Behind him trailed Oh Sehun, who maintained a polite distance between them. For every sidelong glance Jongin spared him, he’d notice his poker face crack a fraction every time he picked up a picture frame from the display table, and then gave way to disconcerting sadness that grew more prominent if he put it down and moved on to the next without a single word. A sense of expectation emanated from Oh Sehun, leaving Jongin restless from the burden of it, and, unexpectedly, kindled sympathy.

Their gazes met by accident. The unspoken question in Oh Sehun’s eyes rang clear: _do you remember anything?_

Jongin had never broken eye contact so fast in his life.

Finishing the house tour strengthened Jongin’s personal hypothesis from hours back. Still, a large part of him remained suspicious; whispered in caution to not lower his defenses just yet. He pinched his cheeks hard for good measure, as if doing so would accelerate the pace of this bizarre dream. He merely winced and stayed where he stood.

Mustering courage to face Oh Sehun, he gestured to the space around them and commented, for the sake of breaking the awkward silence, “This is a nice house. Never knew you had expensive taste.”

“This house was my parents’ wedding gift to us,” Oh Sehun stated.

Jongin had nothing to say in return. He couldn’t recall a single instance of Oh Sehun mentioning his family in televised and printed interviews. And if questions centered on personal life were asked, Oh Sehun only spoke about himself, such as his current interests or what he did on his free time.

Seeing Oh Sehun expecting an answer from him, Jongin let out a weak chuckle. “Really? I wish I was this rich, too.”

Oh Sehun’s eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” He huffed out a strained sigh; picked up the bags by his feet. “You must be tired. You should rest.”

Jongin quietly followed Oh Sehun but stopped in his tracks upon recognizing where they were headed. Of course—why did he expect any better? Why did he expect Oh Sehun would bring him anywhere else but the master bedroom in his stubborn belief they were married?

Oh Sehun must’ve sensed he wasn’t trailing after him any longer, for he threw a glance over his shoulder to check. He half-turned to ask, “Is something wrong?”

“Do you have a guestroom I could use?” Jongin asked. He hurried to add, “You can’t tell me there isn’t one with the many doors I’ve seen. Surely you have one to spare?” He’d offer to do the cleaning in exchange if Oh Sehun was more of the type to call in weekly cleaners, except his broken arm was going to be burdensome.

“You don’t need to sleep in the guestroom. The master bedroom is perfectly fine.”

“To you, maybe, since you live here. I don’t. Look, the point is that we shouldn’t sleep on the same bed. The bed in your master bedroom should only be occupied by you and your husband. No, don’t interrupt me; listen until I’m done. I am _not_ the husband you insist me to be, even if—for whatever reason—we might have an eerie resemblance with each other. Nothing you say or do will make me set foot inside the master bedroom. Besides, think about it: would your husband take kindly to you sleeping next to someone who looked like him?”

The entire time Jongin spoke, several emotions warred on Oh Sehun’s face. Misery won out in the end before he swallowed thickly. Jongin ignored the pang of unexplained guilt for causing it. He saw nothing wrong with his statements and stood by them.

“The guestroom hasn’t been used in a long time. I’ll have it prepared by evening,” Oh Sehun spoke in a clipped tone, almost like the words were being forcefully pried out of his mouth.

Jongin should’ve counted it as a win. Yet even as his back hit the downy mattress, careful not to upset his broken arm, and enjoyed the feel of cool, clean sheets, he couldn’t move past the wounded look on Oh Sehun’s face when he ushered him into the newly-cleaned guestroom an hour later, telling him to rest well before closing the door shut and leaving him alone. He’d seen a similar look at the hospital, when Oh Sehun asked the nurse who returned Jongin’s belongings if they hadn’t seen a ring. Jongin had near given a scathing retort if not for Oh Sehun’s despondent face stirring his conscience and kept his mouth shut.

“Kim Jongin, pull yourself together. Whatever dramatics Oh Sehun is pulling is none of your business. Don’t get involved, figure out what’s happening, and leave this place as soon as you can.”

Jongin chanted that to himself countless times like a mantra until his eyes grew heavy. When he opened them again, the room was now bathed in dusky light. Further awakening him was the two knocks on his door before it creaked open, revealing Oh Sehun to announce dinner was ready.

What was more annoying than having a broken right arm? Having it attached to the hand he used most often for everyday activities. During Jongin’s stay at the hospital, he was saved the humiliation of having mealtimes without anybody watching him. The one time Oh Sehun had stuck around long enough—no matter how much Jongin told-demanded-yelled at him to leave—happened to coincide when peak clumsiness possessed his left hand. Scalding embarrassment had burned him with each failed attempt at feeding himself, food continuously slipping between the chopsticks halfway to his mouth. Oh Sehun’s non-malicious suggestion of assisting him and taking the chopsticks had worsened the unpleasant sensation. Indignant, Jongin had snatched back the chopsticks, claiming he could feed himself fine; to not meddle in his business.

Oh Sehun hadn’t tried anything since, though he kept a watchful eye on him during mealtimes, a silent expectation in his stare.

The same stare Oh Sehun was giving him now from across the table, never once straying except to pick side dishes. Jongin paid him no heed, secretly relieved to use a spoon this time around for the _sundubu jjigae_. His left hand handed the particular utensil with better grace compared to chopsticks.

“This is good. Which restaurant did you order this from?” Jongin asked, then took another hearty sip of broth.

Oh Sehun’s eyes widened in such a comical manner. Jongin assumed his prolonged silence meant he was either too shocked when he initiated conversation, or refused to answer.

“Nowhere,” came Oh Sehun’s soft answer seconds later. “I cooked it myself.”

“ _Huh?_ Really? This good of a stew?” Jongin recalled hearing rumors about cooking as one of Oh Sehun’s more popularly-known weaknesses. “Are you sure? You’re not lying, right? You can’t possibly be this good of a cook. I refuse to believe it.” He scooped more soft tofu, meat, and vegetables into his bowl of rice; wondered in passing if he had been this hungry.

“You’re the better cook between us, to be honest,” Sehun said, tone taking on a wistful note. “I learned from you.”

“ _What?_ ” Jongin exclaimed, bewildered, and choked on his rice. He coughed, beat his chest to help unclog his throat; drained his glass of water when he could breathe again. “Me? _Cook?_ You’ll be disappointed to know I am a complete disaster in the kitchen. You’re probably talking about a different Jongin.”

An extremely bittersweet smile curved just the edges of Oh Sehun’s mouth. “You’re the only Jongin I know in my entire life. Even before we got married.”

“Impossible. There are about a hundred other people in the entirety of South Korea that share my name. I’m sure you’ve encountered one or two in your life who share the same name I do.” Jongin had just begun working up an appetite after days of plain-tasting food. Too bad it disappeared now. “I’m not hungry anymore. You’ve pissed me off to no end with this entire schindig about being married since I opened my eyes in the hospital. Give it a rest already.”

Oh Sehun peeked at his bowl and, with calmness and patience akin to saints, pointed out, “You can’t take medication on a barely-filled stomach. What if it gets irritated? You need to eat properly to gain back your strength. If… if talk about _that_ bothers you, I won’t mention it anymore. Just—please, eat.”

Jongin took a deep breath. Laid out were two choices on how to react. His hand chose for him by picking up the spoon again, surprising even himself. “Fine,” he conceded, albeit begrudgingly. “But I’m telling you now: one word—just one word—about the forbidden topic and I’m leaving.”

Oh Sehun’s enthusiastic nod and the instant brightening of his face would’ve been hilarious if it didn’t feed Jongin’s long-running exasperation. “Yes, of course. Anything,” was his easy reply, paired with the crinkling of his eyes when he smiled.

Weirded out, Jongin shook his head and resumed eating.

☆彡

Living with someone meant learning of their habits and everyday routines whether or not on purpose.

Mornings in this household began at seven on the dot. Oh Sehun would rouse Jongin from slumber with two knocks and announcing breakfast was ready. They sat across from each other on the dining table, and Oh Sehun would attempt conversation. Some mornings Jongin would indulge him, even if he was reduced to responding with grunts and hums, chewing through closed eyes, mind still foggy with sleep. Other mornings Jongin refused interaction it would seem like Oh Sehun was doing a monologue. Jongin would reflect back on these moments with a modicum of regret later in the day, the forced cheer in Oh Sehun’s voice in his desperate attempts at filling the silence echoing loudly in his ears.

Before eight saw Oh Sehun out the door. Jongin didn’t care where he needed to be, tuning out whatever he was told once returning to the guestroom, though he formed private assumptions from the coiffed hair to the expensive suit. Jongin had mostly seen him in training gear, but a past magazine interview he’d read reminded him of Oh Sehun’s apparent love for suits. He scoffed. What was the need to dress up like a dignified businessman leaving the house if he wasn’t going to be wearing that throughout training?

A little past five, sometimes extending to quarter past six in the evening—Oh Sehun usually returned home at these hours. Aside from the faint echo of the front door’s beeping and opening, the rustle of bags accompanied the soft footsteps to the kitchen. Oh Sehun always prepared dinner for them; by seven, it would be served. The amount of interaction varied. Mostly Oh Sehun would ask what Jongin did today, if his arm was hurting—polite chatter, mostly. Jongin deigned him with a response if he wanted to answer; more often he didn’t. Oh Sehun didn’t press him and continued talking, anyway. Jongin pretended he didn’t catch the glimpse of sadness that passed through his eyes.

Rinse, repeat.

Jongin avoided spending his days indoors idling. He concentrated on recovering, sometimes ventured out of the guestroom to walk around. The handsome garden at the back of the house was a perfect spot for fresh air and sunlight; the outdoor wicker lounge pod for afternoon napping and contemplation. The garden’s tranquility lent itself to unlocking memories of the accident now that his head was clearer and ache-free.

It came in increments, stretched onto days.

Undeniably, his current state was a product of a traffic accident. Early evening. Jongin came from grocery shopping to fulfill his unusual craving for tuna fried rice. He was close to reaching the subway station, but the unusual presence of a ball rolling across the highway snatched his attention. From the other side came dashing a little boy, tiny arm outstretched toward his toy ball, oblivious to the speeding van ahead. The chaotic cocktail of tire screeches, witnesses’ screams, and the deafening blare coming from the van that previously thundered in Jongin’s eardrums were now faint echoes in his reminiscence. Jongin uttered a sincere wish he managed to save the little boy from an untimely demise.

The situation also begged another pressing question: if a traffic accident transformed the reality he had always known completely and utterly upside down, what should he do to regain the semblance of order? Jongin mulled on this but frustratingly came up empty-handed.

Although he didn’t know it at the time, the solution arrived in the form of a brand new phone Oh Sehun bought for him. It made sense he would lose it during the accident. Jongin was about to reject the gift when a hundred different ideas raced through his mind. Without providing an explanation, he hastily thanked Oh Sehun anyway and escaped to the guestroom. Fumbling with the gadget using his good hand, it took two tries with a shaky thumb to dial the first number to come to him. Unbelievable—he should’ve thought of this days ago.

Two rings before someone picked up.

“ _Hyung_!” Jongin blurted out, grinning widely. “Hyung, it’s me—”

“Excuse me?” a voice that clearly did _not_ sound like a man or his coach greeted. “Who is this?”

Jongin blinked, puzzled. Gasped and scrunched up his face upon remembering his coach had a tendency to let his girlfriends past and present answer his phone if he couldn’t. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to be rude. Could you please pass the phone to Yongmin-hyung?”

“Huh?” The woman’s voice sounded highly confused. “I know of no one named like that. My husband has no friends or relatives with that name, either. I think you have the wrong number, kid. Double check next time before placing a call.”

The line went dead. So did Jongin’s protests. He checked the digits, redialed, was met with a vicious scolding when he insisted being right, this was Yongmin’s number, and he needed to talk to him. His third attempt fell through—he suspected he was blocked.

Refusing surrender, Jongin dialed his mother’s number. If Oh Sehun could live in an extravagant house such as this, he could afford paying for an expensive overseas call.

“The number you dialed is no longer in service.”

Jongin’s blood ran cold. No way was his mother unreachable. He redialed the number. The result didn’t change. He dialed his sisters’ phone numbers, his brother-in-law’s. No difference.

Fear and desperation coiled together in his guts like tight ropes. Jongin refused giving in to paranoia or jumping to wild conclusions, however. Taking deep, steadying breaths, he dialed his home phone number.

Sheer relief poured through him when the call was answered.

“Mom!” he called out in excitement, hope springing forth once more.

“Huh? Who is this?” the voice of an elderly man came through the receiver.

Jongin’s head spun. It took him a few beats to recover and try again. His persistence failed to impress the elderly man. When he threatened to hang up, Jongin rushed to introduce himself; politely inquired about the residents living in that house, mentioned his mother’s name.

“I’m sorry, young man, but no one of that name lives here. I would know—I inherited this house from my father, and him from my grandfather. My surname? What does that have to do with anything? It’s Kwak. The Kwak family and their descendants have lived here as far back as the sixties.”

Jongin’s entire body went numb. The hand holding the phone fell limply at his side. The house his father had worked countless hours for in Suncheon to purchase so they needn’t move around any longer—ceased to exist, just like that. Jongin could better handle the first two shocking blows he’d been dealt with. This, though? Simply unacceptable. The strangeness of his situation had gone on for too long.

Possibilities circled his mind as he marched outside in search of Oh Sehun. Jongin found him in the living room browsing something on his iPad, a couple of folders opened on the coffee table. The hilarious way Oh Sehun’s face lit on his approach would’ve made Jongin laugh if he wasn’t too preoccupied with other emotions right now.

Jongin stood behind the coffee table, using it as a barrier between him and Oh Sehun in case he might turn homicidal on the spot. He raised the phone and demanded, “Did you do something before giving this to me? Don’t play dumb with me—my temper isn’t at its best right now.”

“I’m not sure of what you’re accusing me,” Oh Sehun answered, calm, the tiniest furrow forming between his brows.

“How the fuck is it possible that I can’t get a hold of my family? How in the ever-loving-fuck is it possible that my parents’ house is now magically owned by someone else? What is your role in all this, seriously?”

Oh Sehun’s look of extreme confusion seemed genuine enough if Jongin wasn’t too heated at the moment. He held out his hand and requested for the phone. Jongin nearly hurled it at him. Swiping through the screen and landing on the call log, he said, “You won’t reach any of your family members even if you tried every number on the directory. These are South Korea-based numbers. Your family has long moved to London.”

“ _What?_ ” Jongin yelled, shock shaking him to the core. Moved? London? What was this fool talking about? “The hell they are! My mom and I just had a date last week—we even bought a new couch for the house. I also picked up Rahee from preschool and babysat her while my sister went on a supermarket errand. Stop lying to me!”

“I’m not lying to you.” The furrow between Oh Sehun’s brows deepened despite retaining his composure. “I’ll prove that I’m not lying to you. I can take you where you need to go if it will make you believe me.”

Oh Sehun did good on his word and took Jongin to his parents’ house. Jongin dictated the directions to him while securing the seat belt with his usable hand. Oh Sehun complied with every instruction; yet the farther they drove, the more he looked noticeably confused.

“Spit it out,” Jongin told him, unable to stand his silence and growing curiosity.

“I’m not familiar with the address you gave,” Sehun answered, after a beat’s hesitation. The light turned green, and the car moved forward. “Are you sure you’re remembering right?”

“Don’t pin this on my nonexistent amnesia,” Jongin spat, tone acerbic.

The rest of the drive ensued in complete and strained silence.

The house looked the same from the outside: a modest building barricaded behind a black iron gate. Mr. Kwak, the old man Jongin talked to on the phone, recognized him through voice when he granted them an audience. Jongin pleaded to take a look inside the house. Mr. Kwak outright refused; threatened to call the police on them if they insisted on trespassing. Oh Sehun mediated and, after negotiating in what seemed like forever, successfully convinced him to let them in for strictly five minutes.

Jongin’s hope soared high and crashed taking in the house’s surroundings. Where he expected certain pieces of furniture his father bought were nowhere to be found. His mother’s colorful vases and ornaments used to enliven the living room were replaced with wooden sculptures of different animals. The flowery curtains his eldest sister loved so much hanging from the rods were gone; in its place, pasty-white and dusty blinds. Zero traces of spending his childhood and formative years spent here could be found; of his family going through happy and tough times together. An unfamiliar house. A complete stranger’s house.

Devastation gripped Jongin, cold, hard facts washing over him in icy waves. He barely registered Oh Sehun excusing them both out of the house, or escorting him back to the car. He sat in complete silence, dazed and stupefied. His personal hypothesis strengthened, impossible to ignore now, but still withheld absolutely believing in it. Regaining a fraction of his senses back, Jongin glimpsed at the nighttime scenery and realized Oh Sehun wasn’t driving back to Yeouido.

Though his mood remained somber, Jongin’s curiosity piqued recognizing Gangnam’s streets, and mounted when Oh Sehun drove the car into an apartment complex’s underground parking lot. “Why are we here?” he asked, climbing out the parked car. “This isn’t a good location for a murder, just so you know. There are surveillance cameras installed everywhere. You’ll be caught, then what?”

For the first time, Oh Sehun actually _snorted_. “I brought you here to show your parents’ house. You and your family used to live here before they moved to London,” He pushed the red button, elevator doors groaning open. Inside, he pushed another button for the twentieth floor. “Your aunt lives in the apartment whenever she visits Seoul.”

Jongin recognized nothing in this twentieth floor. He didn’t recognize any of the doors made from dark, polished wood; the silver numbers hanging on it. He did, however, recognize his maternal aunt, who appeared behind the door after Oh Sehun rang the bell and announced their presence to the intercom.

“Jongin, Sehun! Such a pleasant surprise!” Aunt Dooshim, his mother’s older sister, granted them entrance right away, arms poised to accept a hug but stopped short seeing his bandaged arm. “My dear boy, I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to visit you at the hospital. Restaurant renovations at home kept me tied down, and when I finally had free time, you’ve been discharged. How did I know? Silly boy, of course your husband kept me posted.”

Jongin smiled—the most sincere he’d given since the accident, in his opinion. Immense relief flooded him from the discovery nothing dramatic had changed in terms of family relations and backgrounds. Aunt Dooshim indeed ran a modest but successful restaurant in Suncheon; last time they talked, she mentioned wanting to give it a makeover. Her trips to Seoul were few and far between; when she could stay for more than a day, it extended a week, and Jongin was always sad to part ways with her at the bus terminal. Though reeling still from the loss and extreme changes of his parents’ house, he wondered if there was any way to stay here rather than at the humongous mansion with Oh Sehun.

“Aunt Dooshim, I have a question. Why does Oh Sehun insist my family moved to London? He’s also claiming we’re married! God, can you believe that? Absolutely ridiculous, right?” Jongin laughed, expecting his aunt to follow suit.

His laughter tapered off seeing Aunt Dooshim’s horrified look, a hand flying to her mouth. Shaking her head, she sat close beside Jongin on the couch, gingerly taking his uninjured hand between hers and squeezed. “Heavens. Oh, heavens, this can’t be happening. Sehun, why didn’t you tell me the accident had such a drastic effect on his memories?”

Jongin’s jaw dropped, flabbergasted. Alarm bells started ringing in his head when Aunt Dooshim became teary-eyed. “My memories are intact,” he said, forcing his voice to sound level and calm.

Aunt Dooshim patted his hand consolingly. Jongin didn’t feel the least bit consoled. “It’s alright, my dear. You don’t have to put on airs with me. You’ll remember everything slowly.” She addressed Oh Sehun, who stood in front of them watching in silence, when she spoke next. “Why did you hide this from me?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Oh Sehun answered. “I had hoped he would get better in the following days.”

Aunt Dooshim nodded her head solemnly. “I see, I see. Look after him well, okay?”

“ _Enough!_ ” Wrenching his hand free, Jongin shot to his feet, chest heaving from poorly-restrained anger. “Why are all of you like this?” he demanded, uncaring to lower the volume of his voice, glowering at the shocked individuals. “Stop treating me like I’m an amnesiac; I’m not! There is nothing wrong with my head _and_ my memories!”

The apartment’s walls felt like they were closing in on Jongin. Unable to withstand a second longer in this suffocating place, Jongin briskly sped past Oh Sehun and sprinted out the door. He ignored the pinpricks of pain along his injured arm from being jostled; the panicked calls of his name, sounding more desperate with each repetition. Jongin cared less where he would end up, or his lack of clear destination in mind. He rushed to the end of the long hallway, turned right where he remembered seeing the emergency exit. Leaning against the door to catch his breath, mind addled by panic and body trembling with white-hot rage, Jongin closed his eyes and summoned images from his mental file. The images whirled round and round in a dizzying kaleidoscope motion.

Rushed footsteps were fast approaching from behind the door.

Jongin pulled the first image his mind latched onto. Concentrated. Wished.

A whooshing sound filled his ears; an invisible pull in his stomach. For a split second, Jongin felt like he was tipping over, and then he wasn’t. Opening his eyes once more, Jongin was no longer in the emergency exit but standing awkward and alone by the Han River.

It was neither his ideal location nor first choice, but desperation spurred him to act fast. The probability of Oh Sehun catching up was real and large. And now, having narrowly escaped him allowed easier breathing. Freedom gained back, in some way. If Oh Sehun couldn’t find him, well and good and not his problem. Jongin decided he would stay with Aunt Dooshim from now on—or by himself in that unfamiliar apartment—as long as it meant he could stay away from Oh Sehun. The tinge of regret caught up fast with the realization he brought nothing with him except for the clothes on his back. The phone was missing, too. Jongin belatedly remembered leaving it on the car seat.

The balmy evening air hinted at summer’s close resign and caressed Jongin’s cheeks as he wandered on the riverbank. Staying cooped up in Oh Sehun’s house reminded him how long it had been since he last mingled with people. Catching sight of joggers reminded him he should get back on track with exercising soon. The broken arm was a huge setback, and he refused pushing his body needlessly when it was still aching. Rectifying his workout regiment seemed the likely answer. He remembered seeing a mini gym in Oh Sehun’s house during the tour and—

Jongin shook his head. Why was he considering requesting access to that room when he’d made up his mind not to return anymore?

A group of friends, college aged, were picnicking on the designated area. Jongin abruptly stopped walking as an idea struck him. He should’ve thought of this sooner. He ran to the cluster of trees ahead and slipped himself into its shadows. The idea should work if the address was the same. A huge gamble, he admitted to himself, but one he was willing to risk. Pressing his back against a tree trunk after checking one last time for any people he might have missed, Jongin pulled up the image of his best friend’s apartment.

Jongin didn’t close his eyes this time. He wanted to be at full attention in case he might need to escape. His surroundings blurred, colors fading and changing, then stopped and sharpened to clear focus.

The trees were gone. In their place were the four walls of an apartment where Jongin had spent many nights staying over during his teenage years. He squinted against the light overhead, ears picking up the soft hum of the television playing the news behind him. The apartment looked exactly as it was in his memories, but not quite. The off-white walls were now a muted blue. The television was the same brand and size. On the opposite side of the room was a gray sofa and matching plush throw cushions. When Jongin looked down, he saw his best friend in pajamas sitting cross-legged on the floor, noodles hanging unattractively down his mouth.

“Moonkyu!” Ecstatic, Jongin walked around the low table holding bowls and cartons of food, sank down next to Moonkyu, and clung onto his arm in sheer excitement. He would’ve given Moonkyu a bear hug if he wasn’t injured. “I should’ve done this from the start! I’m so glad you’re still living here, I would’ve cried if I found someone else—”

“Jongin?” Moonkyu’s words were muffled by the noodles, so Jongin’s name came out funny. He slurped them quickly, moving back a bit and giving Jongin a wide-eyed look. His eyes dropped to Jongin’s bandaged arm then returned to his face. “How’s your arm? I was informed you got into an accident. Sorry I couldn’t drop by—work kept me away from Seoul. I was meaning to visit tomorrow.” The surprise in his features didn’t recede. “But, tell me: how in the world did you do that?”

“Do what?” Jongin asked, grinning. “Did you mean teleporting? And you always tease _me_ for being forgetful! I’ve always known how. You were the first person I told, and we’ve kept it a secret since.”

“No.” Though Moonkyu posed it as a statement, the note of uncertainty wasn’t hard to miss. He set aside the low table. “You’re… you don’t have powers. You don’t teleport. I’ve known you since we were in middle school. We’ve been best friends for just as long. We don’t keep secrets from each other. This… has never happened before.”

Middle school? It was Jongin’s turn to be confused. “Moonkyu, why are you getting things mixed up? We met and became friends in high school. You learned of my teleportation ability on the first meeting.”

Moonkyu’s expression became progressively baffled, eyebrows sinking lower with each word. Jongin staved off his heightening impatience and frustration. He knew this look. He’d been on the receiving end of this skeptical look more times than he wanted from everyone he’d interacted with so far. He loathed it on Oh Sehun, who stubbornly stuck to the inane narrative of them as husbands. He assumed Aunt Dooshim wouldn’t give him a similar look, but he was let down by their recent encounter. Coming from Kim Moonkyu, his best friend, the one person he trusted he could fall back on, was more than he could take. Unendurable.

“Jongin, are you sure you’re feeling fine?” Moonkyu’s voice was filled with concern. “Never in our years of being friends did you mention knowing any sort of magic tricks. Or that you’re a teleporter. The way you just appeared out of thin air—good thing I wasn’t swallowing my food, it would’ve gone down the wrong pipe!”

Jongin slumped, utterly defeated, mind spinning from the shock of his hypothesis gradually aligning with this unwanted reality. Coupled with the stress he struggled hard to tame, his head was on the verge of exploding. Had he set his expectations too high, banking on Moonkyu to be the reliable best friend he always was?

“What did I do to deserve this punishment?”

Moonkyu blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Why does everyone act like I’m supposed to be someone else and not me?” Unable to rein in his emotions any longer, Jongin finally succumbed to the pressure. “None of this makes sense! I wake up from an accident, and suddenly I’m married to my rival, my family’s not in Seoul anymore, my entire history has been rewritten, and now you! My best friend, the one I could rely on for a semblance of normalcy, isn’t any different!” His cheeks burned hot from the shame of throwing this childish tantrum, eyes stinging with tears of indignation, but he was beyond caring. How could the world change so much from a single accident?

The tantrum was effective. Moonkyu looked genuinely alarmed. He took the remote beside him and muted the television. The entire room plunged into a terse silence, broken by Jongin’s intermittent sniffling. Jongin roughly wiped away the stray tears with the back of his hand. He caught Moonkyu giving him a long, searching look.

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t like not being taken seriously. Unfortunately, I just did. Forgive me?” Moonkyu sounded sincere in his apology.

Jongin gave a noncommittal hum. Already he was majorly assuaged, but he’d hold on to his irritation a little more.

“I won’t lie: I don’t understand some of the things you said. What I don’t understand most of all is how you just popped up in the middle of my living room.” A longer silence ensued, but not as uncomfortable as the first. By the time Jongin’s sniffling ceased, Moonkyu’s face lit up with an idea. “Listen, Jongin, you might think I don’t believe any of this, but I want to try something. You good with that?”

“Sure. Whatever. You already doubted me from the beginning. What else do I have to lose?” Jongin asked, pouting in disapproval.

“We’re off to a good start. You’re still the dramatic Kim Jongin I know,” Moonkyu remarked, chuckling. “Here’s my suggestion: I want you to answer some of my questions as honestly as possible, okay?

“Fine.”

Undeterred, Moonkyu launched into the first question right away. “So, the basics first. What’s your name?”

“Aren’t we best friends? Why don’t you know that?” Jongin asked, miffed. He answered, anyway. “Kim Jongin.”

“Birthday?”

“January 14, 1994.”

Moonkyu hummed. “When’s my birthday?”

“January 25, 1993. We’re same-age friends since we’re in the same class, or should I not remember that, too?”

Moonkyu’s face paled, like he’d been bitten by a poisonous snake. Jongin wanted to smack his forehead. Maybe he shouldn’t have been too snippy. He was about to offer an apology when Moonkyu recovered; asked something else in return.

“What do you do for a living?”

“What—geez, I don’t know where you’re going with this.” Jongin gave his answer.

Moonkyu looked two shades paler now. “Are you sure that’s what you do, Jongin?” The way he posed the question sounded like he was careful. Cautious.

“God, are you going to question me if I’m hallucinating?” Jongin griped, suddenly riled up again.

Instead of answering, Moonkyu went to retrieve his phone on the couch, typed something, then showed his phone screen to Jongin upon returning.

Stupefied did not begin to describe Jongin’s current state from what he was seeing on the screen.

Naver was open, his full name on the search bar. Search results showed several articles written about him, which wasn’t new and was expected, so Jongin didn’t understand why Moonkyu was showing him these—at first. Then one headline caught his eye; a quick press on the link brought him to the article detailing his impressive achievements as—

“ _‘The nation’s muse?’_ ” Jongin shouted, reading the words over and over again. Grabbing Moonkyu’s phone, he stared at the unmistakable words printed right before his eyes. Loading the other articles gave back similar results. “Why am I being described as ‘the nation’s muse?’ I am not!”

Moonkyu, unfazed by his outburst, calmly told him, “Isn’t that a fitting description for someone highly regarded in the ballet world? You’ve had that title since your phenomenal startup with Korean National Ballet.”

“I’m not a ballet dancer,” Jongin countered immediately. A sudden lightheadedness overcame him. Good thing he was sitting. “More like I almost became one if I didn’t have a change of dream.”

“Ballet was your one and only dream,” Moonkyu explained, not unkindly.

Finding it hard to believe, Jongin searched up his name and the usual keywords associated with it. Naver returned zero results and suggested better keywords, a bulk of them similar to what Moonkyu used earlier. Frustrated by the absence of desired results and the growing chaos that was his situation, he tossed the phone back to Moonkyu, who caught it smoothly. He ruffled his hair, agitated, irate. “No painkiller will be strong enough to kill this headache I’m about to have. This seriously _can’t_ be happening. Does this mean my hypothesis has been right from the start? I couldn’t have possibly teleported too far that I—”

Stunned speechless by the sudden epiphany, the elusive truth Jongin had been searching now felt within reach. The possibility of it happening was exceedingly high, hardly leaving any room for doubt anymore.

Moonkyu’s next statements shed light to his intentions, and backed Jongin’s hypothesis further. “You see, my best friend Jongin is terribly bad with dates. Telling him my birthday now means he’ll forget about it the next day. There’s nothing wrong with him—he’s just forgetful where dates are concerned, like some people are about their belongings.”

“I’m cursed with that,” Jongin said. “But that’s not the point right now. Something more important is going on here. You’re shocked by my sudden appearance in your living room, which you shouldn’t be. This is normal between us. _Should_ be normal, anyway, but the way you reacted earlier… yeah, that’s pretty telling. Naver search results and articles claim I’m a ballet dancer, which I’m not. And if that— _that person_ ”—to this moment, Jongin’s tongue seemed to curl in on itself if he attempted saying his name aloud—“agrees with your observation about me being bad with dates, that only means one thing.”

Moonkyu’s forehead creased. “That person?” He let out a sound of understanding. “Did you mean Sehun?” A loud, amused laugh left him. “‘That person…’ Oh, man. Not even during your worst arguments would you address Sehun that way. You’ve always been whipped for him. This is refreshing.”

Jongin frowned. Him? Whipped? For Oh Sehun? Normally, he was on board with Moonkyu’s jokes. He couldn’t bring himself to laugh at this one. “Where I’m from, I can’t stand Oh Sehun’s guts. Geez, enough about him. I have to find a way to go back and, I don’t know, right the tipped balance of the universe, maybe.”

Moonkyu’s laughter faded as he calmed, a serious expression slowly working its way on his face. “To think this only happened in movies… truth is definitely stranger than fiction.”

Jongin blinked. “Do you happen to be into sci-fi and fantasy like me, too? The Moonkyu I know is.”

Moonkyu grinned. “Sounds just like me! I wonder if that has something to do with my non-surprise? Your teleportation caught me off-guard, won’t lie about that. Your aura is different, too. I can’t explain, and it might come off weird, but you share limited similarities with my best friend—or the one I know, at least.” A gentle smile stretched across his lips. “I’m happy to know we’re also best friends where you’re from.”

Alternate waves of joy and relief washed over Jongin. Many unanswered questions lingered, and the mechanics of transporting himself in the farthest corner of the universe continued to elude him, but Moonkyu was an assuring comfort in a world he continuously tried to understand.

The bell rang in Moonkyu’s apartment. Moonkyu went to check on the intercom; threw Jongin a knowing look and grin over his shoulder. Jongin groaned, already knowing what this meant.

“I should give you a tip that whenever you and Sehun have an argument, you tend to come to my apartment to cool off. If I’m not home, your second option is wandering by the Han River.”

Jongin rolled his eyes. “If _I_ had an argument with Oh Sehun, people around us wouldn’t be able to interfere. They’d be too busy being tense and fearing for their lives.” He didn’t budge from his spot on the floor, refusing to make an effort for Oh Sehun. Why, exactly, should he do that? Stronger evidence now cemented his hypothesis; he sure as hell wasn’t going to play a role not meant for him. A role he reviled, would never accept, even in a thousand years, regardless of the universe’s capricious whims.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Don’t be so sure about that.” Moonkyu wagged a teasing finger before opening the door.

“Jongin is here, right?” came Oh Sehun’s immediate inquiry. The thick walls might’ve blotted the sound of his voice but couldn’t conceal his seemingly breathless state.

“Hey, Sehun. Yeah, he’s been here for a while. Come on in.”

Hurried footsteps slapped against the wooden floor. Jongin readied his cutting retorts, his sly digs.

Oh Sehun’s haphazard appearance dissolved every word at the tip of his tongue. His chest heaved with exhaustion; his hair in disarray, clothes unkempt. Worry showed on his face one would have to be blind to miss it. The time it took for Oh Sehun to approach him and fall to his knees in front of Jongin seemed to stretch on infinitely; fissured his hardened resolve. Jongin looked to Moonkyu, who stood by the living room entryway. Moonkyu raised his hands in front of him, faint smile insinuating he wasn’t going to interrupt.

“I searched everywhere for you.” When Oh Sehun spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically and carefully soft. Jongin couldn’t see Oh Sehun’s face, lowered and obscured from the lights. His next set of words felt like an invisible hand reached past Jongin’s ribs and squeezed at something there. “I had no idea where to begin looking. Y-you didn’t have your phone, I was doubtful if you would head to Moonkyu’s apartment since the accident might have made you forget—”

Jongin scoffed, temper rising. “Why does everything have to go back to that accident? How many more times do we have to go through this discussion before you understand nothing is wrong with me?” He was never mean on purpose but made an exception this time, injecting maximum hostility in his words if it could drill some sense into Oh Sehun’s head.

He expected Oh Sehun to finally snap. Get angry, curse at him, unleash hell, be hostile in return—or twice more.

Oh Sehun defied expectations by delicately taking Jongin’s good hand and holding it between his. Jongin should’ve extracted his hand right away, yet the gesture—unmistakably tender and laden with what could only be labeled as relief—reflected in the way Oh Sehun squeezed it.

“I don’t care if you’re angry at me, upset, or can’t stand being in the same vicinity. Just… please, _please_ don’t run away and disappear so suddenly like that on me again.” Oh Sehun’s voice trembled with each spoken word. His hands shook, but the grip was firm and carried a heartfelt plea Jongin felt in waves. At the first drop of a hot tear on their joined hands, Jongin watched, partly horrified and slightly concerned, as Oh Sehun’s shoulders shook, muffled sobs uncomfortably tearing his gut.

The Oh Sehun he knew would never act like this. He would never kneel; would never show his vulnerability so openly to an audience. Most of all, he would never shed tears for someone he despised.

The tears left behind a searing path on Jongin’s skin. The suspicious absence of revulsion from their proximity and contact shaped itself to sympathy. Perhaps this Oh Sehun was still shaken and suffering from the accident’s aftermath. Perhaps there was something else behind the crying Jongin didn’t know. And, with his hypothesis nearly a hundred percent proven, perhaps Jongin should’ve been more considerate that he wasn’t the only one suffering.

Watching Oh Sehun cry helplessly before him, Jongin wondered how or where to begin explaining about the possibility the husband he longed for was in a parallel universe.

☆彡

Teleportation: a superpower wherein the user can transfer from one point to another without traversing the physical space between. It existed across various media, ranging from entertaining cartoons to high-budget movies. A superpower considered fictional, the product of an overactive imagination by its creators and utilized in ways unimaginable.

Until it wasn’t.

Jongin was a living testament of the impossible becoming possible. He couldn’t pinpoint when exactly his ability manifested; how. He guessed it had something to do with the obscene amounts of anime he consumed involving characters in fantastical settings and possessed otherworldly powers they used on their adventures or save the world. Some of the comic books he read growing up contained such elements. He found it in the novels at the bookstores’ fantasy and sci-fi sections after growing old enough for his concentration to lend to longer works and thicker books not many would have the patience to sit through.

Teleportation was one of the million superpowers to exist in these fictional worlds he dived into. Many lunch breaks in primary school were dedicated to calling dibs on which superpower they wanted, the playground equipment the usual setting of their made-up scenarios of heroes stopping villains from taking over Seoul. Jongin didn’t think too hard about what he wanted; one day, he liked the power of fire, the next he was more interested turning everyone into icicles. His inclination toward teleportation didn’t develop until later, when he watched an old cartoon where the protagonist could quickly transport people to safety, could summon objects out of thin air.

The convenience of being able to travel as he pleased without taking too long or costing money appealed to his honed practicality. Growing up, Jongin and his family moved around a lot. He’d always hear from his parents bemoaning about traveling being too time-consuming; how long distances meant more expensive train or bus tickets, creating a huge dent in their savings. That night, after reading his chosen book for the night, Jongin wished with all his might he could teleport if only to help with his parents and the traveling expenses.

Jongin discovered his wish had been realized after moving to Seoul. He was thirteen, then, bored out of his wits in class, and wished he could be at the arcade instead during the break time between lessons.

One moment, he was struggling to maintain interest in the History teacher droning on about King Sejong’s accomplishments. He blinked twice, then flinched from the loud, aggressive music typically played at arcades assaulting his ears.

Jongin almost screamed upon realizing he was standing smack dab in the vicinity. A few players nearby shot him flabbergasted stares, clearly not expecting his sudden appearance. Panicked, embarrassed, mind blank, Jongin caved to his flight response and fled the arcade, then ducked into the nearest alley to calm his breathing and racing pulse. He pinched himself on the cheeks twice, hard. It helped ground him back to reality, but the outrageous fact he was no longer in his classroom haunted him, too.

Dawning realization melted the panic; replaced by curiosity. If this happened to anybody else, they might’ve been scared, or anxious. Jongin was none of these—he suspected the comics and anime had trained him to be more open-minded and accepting. After calming down, Jongin vowed to unravel this mystery.

Jongin researched on the matter from every available source as if possessed. Books, movies, anime, comic books—he didn’t stop until he found answers, at the same time finding ways to utilize this new, precious gift. He wondered at one point if discovering this hidden ability meant he was supposed to find someone like him. Framed like that, Jongin was secretly thrilled about the idea he was some sort of chosen one.

Extensive research revealed to him the many ways a superpower manifested. Until the present time, Jongin hadn’t found the answer to his. None of what he came across seemed to apply to him. There was no higher force that bestowed his teleportation, and he never underwent a freak accident. He formed his own theories, and came to settle with the one he believed for years: a weird fluke by the universe by listening to his earnest wish and granting it for him.

And so the experimenting began. Instead of lamenting or brooding or fearing himself, Jongin tinkered with his abilities. Tested it to see how far he could push its boundaries, learned of its advantages and limitations. He discovered teleporting came easy to him: as long as he wished sincerely and put his will behind it, Jongin could travel anywhere he pleased. He could be at the school rooftop, hanging out and joking with friends and collectively dreading their upcoming lessons; the next, he’d excuse himself for a bathroom break to sneak into Myeongdong’s streets, purchase a couple of snacks from food carts before returning to astonished faces. If he was at home studying and wanted to see the blooming cherry blossoms at the Meguro River in Tokyo, he merely needed to wish until he was among the crowds, not a single citizen batting an eye at his pajamas or having appeared from thin air.

More experiments expanded his knowledge. Teleporting from one destination to another was of no consequence—whether from the comfort of his house in Seoul to a beach in Busan, or wandering in Jeju’s forests to Bangkok’s busy streets, it took nothing out of Jongin. No sacrifices or constricting conditions required to maintain or keep his power, either. He simply had it in his possession to use as he pleased.

The first limitation presented itself on his fourteenth summer. Jongin sprained his wrist on a clumsy bicycle accident. Recovery would take a few weeks, so he was ordered not to strain the injury further. All well and fine—he didn’t need his wrist, sprained or not, to teleport. Once he was left alone to rest after lunch, Jongin stayed five seconds longer in bed to make sure his mother wouldn’t come back. Coast clear, he saw in his mind’s eye Everland and its inviting gate. Vicious pain pierced through his sprained wrist that had him wincing and teleporting out of his room.

But not to Everland.

Shock like no other ran through Jongin at the sight of gigantic trees surrounding him, the fresh scent of earth and water filling his nose. He’d only been here once, but it happened to be the hiking trail his family trekked when they visited Hallasan this past summer. Scared something had gone wrong, Jongin teleported back to his room, relieved to see the familiar four walls. His sprained wrist throbbed, which he brushed off in favor of configuring why his teleportation failed him this time around.

Brushing off his aching sprained wrist wasn’t advisable, as it turned out. Three more failed attempts later, Jongin soon made the connection between injury and teleportation. The more painful the injury, the higher his chances of misdirection. An excruciatingly achy lower back transported him to the freezing Himalayan glaciers despite conjuring the crystal-clear image of the hospital. A dislocated shoulder brought him to the Kiyomizu-dera in Kyoto when he was rushing to a physiotherapist appointment. A concussion from a miscalculated twirl not only sent him to the clinic to rest, he fell face first _not_ on the bathroom tiles as expected but on soft, soft grass at Salto’s larch meadow.

The second limitation wasn’t as drastic, but it also proved Jongin couldn’t teleport everywhere. Becoming the first Korean teenager to set foot on the moon appealed to his childlike whims. The disappointment he could not, in fact, liberally go wherever he pleased no matter how hard he wished, how hard he pushed his will to bend the universe, took some adjustment after having a taste of instant traveling.

A more mature mindset and acquired experiences led to Jongin using his teleportation more cautiously and carefully. At times he tired of keeping this secret to himself. He didn’t talk much at home to begin with, and though he shared some secrets with his mother, Jongin couldn’t bring himself to confess. Classmates were out of the question; he had a feeling they’d take advantage of his ability. Frequent moving around didn’t foster long-lasting friendships; he could hardly call the people he interacted with on a semi-daily basis as such. He took painstaking care not to injure or hut himself too badly in order to continue using his teleportation without hitches. He used it to avoid being late to school, appointments, dates if he was lucky enough to score them. Teleporting to places outside of Seoul or the country were reserved for times he wanted to be alone, mostly to stew in self-loathing and brutally berating himself for mistakes he committed during training.

Keeping the secret to himself was a lonely task. But like the heroes he read and watched, perhaps it was but a small price to pay for not telling a single soul.

That changed when he met Kim Moonkyu, a friend he might’ve found at the right moment in the right time. Jongin had developed a habit of checking out his new school’s libraries on every transfer. Stepping into high school was no exception. Jongin browsed his favorite sci-fi and fantasy genres religiously until something caught his eye; until he found a title he hadn’t read yet. A month into being a freshman, he found a table with a sign that listed the top five picks of the month. The book listed as number one was a murder-mystery, a total skip for Jongin, until he read the premise and found it piqued his interest. Unfortunately, the last of four copies had been checked out since it was a popular title. The librarian told him to come back tomorrow because one was due to be returned.

As soon as the bell rang for lunch the next day, Jongin dashed out of the classroom faster than the teacher. Once he reached the end of the corridor, he slid to the corner, teleported to the floor where the library was located.

He arrived in the blink of an eye. The loud thud on the floor told him he wasn’t alone.

In the corridor Jongin expected to be empty, a boy stood staring agape at him. By his feet was the book he probably dropped upon Jongin’s sudden appearance. Panic seized Jongin, but he was too frozen to move or disappear from this embarrassing situation.

Except the boy reacted in a way Jongin didn’t see coming, like he hadn’t just witnessed an astonishing phenomenon. The boy retrieved his book from the floor, cracked a sheepish smile at Jongin; told him he didn’t know what he just did but promised he wouldn’t tell anyone, even if it might seem unbelievable coming from a stranger.

The book the boy dropped happened to be the very novel Jongin wanted to borrow— _The Devotion of Suspect X_ by Higashino Keigo. From there, he and Kim Moonkyu hit it off, became best friends until out of high school.

Moonkyu didn’t treat him any different, regardless of Jongin’s secret fears. Moonkyu took the time to get to know him, introduced more books penned by Higashino Keigo, bonded over sci-fi and fantasy media, waited for him after school despite belonging to different classes to hang out. Arguing was normal between friends; they were of no exception, but reconciliation came quick after a long, proper talk. Sometimes all it took was Moonkyu giving a basket of strawberries, and Jongin would go back to clinging to him like the past three days of cold shoulders never happened. Through the ups and downs, the good times and bad, Moonkyu stuck by his side; mentioned nothing of Jongin’s secret to others.

Once, during a pre-graduation trip awarded to the senior batch, students were given the chance to experience overnight camping at Jeju. After fulfilling class obligations, playing games, and sharing stories over camp fire while roasting marshmallows, Jongin and Moonkyu stowed away to the edge of the campsite. They made a game out of naming the most winter constellations, touched on random topics. One movie they discussed led to talk about time travel, the pros and cons, their first reaction if they were suddenly blasted hundreds of years to the past or future.

“Whoa, that’s another thing I can’t do.” Jongin let out an awed sound, amazed it had taken him this long to realize. “I can’t travel to the 1900s or the year 2100. I can just literally teleport from one place to another.”

“It’s still awesome you can do that,” Moonkyu assured. “But, like, what if one day you got a power upgrade? For example, traveling to another universe that’s similar to this but not exactly the same.”

“Parallel universe traveling? That’d be so cool,” Jongin said, marveling at the possibilities. “I don’t know if I can do that, though. Let’s say I did. What if everything’s so different over there? What if I see you and we’re not best friends anymore? I’ll be so sad if you treated me like a stranger.” He covered his mouth and faked a sob, prompting laughter. “Now that you mentioned it, I wonder what I’m like in the parallel universe? If it exists, that is.”

“There’s only one way to know: you should meet your other self.”

“Yeah, but what if doing that means following a weird set of space and time rules similar to what they show in movies?” Jongin countered. “What if I teleported myself to a parallel universe, but I wasn’t supposed to exist there? Or what if I was, you know, dead in the parallel universe? Would that change history over there and erase my existence here?”

Moonkyu shot him a weird look, chuckling awkwardly. “That’s a bit morbid even for our standard fare.”

Jongin was unstoppable when he was invested in a topic. “Okay, sorry, maybe not dead. It’d be weird meeting myself in a parallel universe, not going to lie. But I’ll also be super intrigued of how I turned out.” He scrunched up his nose at the sudden thought that occurred to him. “I hope the other versions of myself in the parallel universes are leading honest lives. I know I can be difficult, but I don’t think I can live with the unwanted knowledge one of me in a parallel universe is a notorious criminal with a bounty on his head.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s true. Hmm… how about being married to a person you didn’t expect? For instance, someone you completely cannot stand here, but absolutely adore in a parallel universe?"

“I doubt that,” Jongin replied right away, shaking his head. “You know me. If I don’t like someone, nothing in this world can move me to like them. And marrying a person I can’t stand?” He burst out laughing, noisy and amused, then snorted. “I highly doubt that, too. No way in hell that’s happening to me. The other versions of myself better be smart.”

☆彡

Jongin burst out laughing again upon remembering his past conversation with Moonkyu for the nth time. It recently resurfaced with a vengeance since the grand revelation; plagued his mind on waking hours, attacked him swift and unsuspecting. Not once did it give him a moment’s rest, harping on the fact he had majorly screwed up in more ways than one.

After the initial shock wore off, Jongin managed to find some humor in his situation. The novelty didn’t last and gave way to mild despair. If he teleported himself all the way into a parallel universe during the accident, did it mean he was stuck here for life? What if his attempts to return, if any, didn’t work? What if traveling here was tied to one of those unheard astronomical events where the planets aligned every ten million years? Wasn’t that terribly bad news for him, if true?

He caught Oh Sehun watching him from across the table, stare alert but concerned. Jongin saw the minutest twitch of his lips, as if dying to ask questions. Shaking his head, Jongin picked up his chopsticks once more and resumed eating. Or tried, anyway—his left hand was furiously at its clumsiest today, food lasting no longer than five seconds between the chopsticks; having eaten no less than three bites.

On mealtimes they sat down together, Oh Sehun never rushed or reprimanded him for taking so long. He always offered to help (feed) him. Jongin refused every single time. Oh Sehun would nod in acceptance, but never missed a beat to offer.

Jongin might just accept the offer now, after his fingers slipped the slightest fraction, and the piece of pork tumbled down the front of his shirt. Jongin breathed sharply through his nose, patience fraying.

“Will you let me help you?” came Oh Sehun’s polite inquiry, face earnest. Waiting.

“Please,” Jongin answered at once. “I’m starving. The food tastes real good. I’d have scarfed down everything by now, but…” He gestured to his bandaged arm, the annoying chopsticks. For maximum effect, he jutted out his bottom lip.

Oh Sehun stared at him in genuine shock the entire time. Then, without a word, he stood up and migrated to the seat beside Jongin, only sitting down after being granted permission. Oh Sehun’s elbow slightly brushed against Jongin’s shoulder during the move. Jongin flinched and wanted to smack his forehead for the reflex reaction; the mild hurt he saw in Oh Sehun’s eyes.

Things between them had drastically changed since the night in Moonkyu’s living room. Although Jongin still had trouble reconciling this Oh Sehun who cried like a child to the one from his universe who had no problem taunting him unprovoked, deep down inside, he knew the tears that wetted his hand were genuine. Nobody would shed so much tears over a person they loathed. For all his preconceived notions and dreadful experiences, Jongin couldn’t convince himself Oh Sehun was putting on an extravagant act to fool him.

“Sorry about that,” Jongin found himself saying, unsure of what he was apologizing for. “I… I’m still not used to this. All of this.” He gestured to the almost-nonexistent space between them.

Oh Sehun said nothing, concentrated on his task of slicing meat and vegetables into manageable, bite-sized pieces. “It’s alright. I think I might have an idea of what’s really going on. Here; you can try using a fork to spear the food. The grease and seasoning makes the food slippery against the chopsticks. Forks can combat that. It requires a little more effort, but please bear with it for now.”

Jongin watched Oh Sehun create neat, segregated piles of food on a spare plate between mouthfuls. The fast, efficient, and effortless way he sliced and cut spoke of experiences that didn’t seem confined to kitchen episodes.

“Have you done this a lot? Normally, people slice food for quick and uninterrupted consumption. It’s seldom due to immobility.”

Oh Sehun’s responding smile was fond. “You often get sick in summers and winters. Extreme temperatures weaken you. When you’re sick, you tend to nitpick your food from its size to the texture. On the rare times you sprain or break a body part, I do my best to ease mealtimes for you by doing this.” As if jolting awake from a dream, his smile disappeared, an apologetic expression replacing it. “Oh, I’m sorry, I meant my husband when I said that. Jong— _my husband_ is the sickly one, not… you.” He exhaled a soft sigh. “This is hard. You look and sound exactly like him, but you’re not him.”

Jongin noted the creeping despair in Oh Sehun’s voice. Under normal circumstances, he’d have savored this small victory. That wasn’t the case now. Though exhausting to constantly remind himself not to act rash or brash, Jongin was determined to start making amends. This Oh Sehun irrefutably shared many eerie resemblances with the one from his universe; however, essentially, they differed by miles in attitude and speech. It was high time Jongin treated him right. Better.

“Look, this talk is long overdue, so let’s get to it,” Jongin spoke, ending the more or less comfortable silence. “It might be information overload, and you might kick me out because… honestly, there’s no easy way to explain what happened without coming off like a lunatic. I’m sure you have a ton of questions.” His mind returned to what Oh Sehun mentioned minutes ago. “Want to know something? I think you’re smarter and more suspicious than you let on.”

Oh Sehun’s face broke into a solemn smile. He leaned back into the chair, the most relaxed Jongin had seen him. “You are correct. I’ve had my suspicions as far back as the hospital. Hearing you recite my birthday correctly shocked me. You—ah, pardon, my husband would never be able to do that. I love him, but his memory is absolutely horrible where dates are concerned.”

“How does he live with himself forgetting about your birthday yearly?” Jongin couldn’t help asking, curiosity winning over tact.

Oh Sehun laughed, much to his surprise. “He does his best to remember. It’s the effort that matters.” The fondness Jongin long learned to associate when he talked about his husband rose once more. In some way, it felt a little funny listening to someone talk about his other self with unreserved adoration the way Oh Sehun did. “I was in denial for a while. Even in movies, it’s completely unheard of for an accident to give someone impeccable memory to remember dates.”

“What else made you suspicious?”

“Your clothes,” Oh Sehun said. “I saw what was returned to you. They were nothing I recognized. I know my husband’s clothes. If he bought anything new, he always made it a point to show me. He has a love for pretty clothes influenced by my mother-in-law but tends to buy them for the sake of practicality.” He listed his head, humming, a contemplative sound. “I was split about the ring. It could’ve gotten lost during the accident. It’s never been returned, either. And… you weren’t wearing it when I was allowed to visit.” His expression looked pained saying this.

“I don’t think I would—sorry, _your husband_ ”—this would take some getting used to, Jongin thought—“I don’t think your husband would take off his ring if it meant a lot to him. I’m just guessing, but maybe you screwed up big time, and it pissed him off to the point looking at it was an infuriating reminder of being married to you.”

Oh Sehun’s face crumpled in agony. “I hope not,” he said, voice alarmingly timid and distressed. “We’ve had huge arguments in the past, but it never pushed him to take off the ring.”

Jongin’s interest piqued but chose to smother it. Whatever past arguments they had was none of his business. “What else made you suspicious?” he asked, attempting to steer them clear from the gloomy direction. “Was it my adamant insistence we’re not married?”

“The way you looked at me.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Jongin gasped, scandalized. He blinked rapidly, trying and failing to decode the observation.

A sheepish expression overtook Sehun’s features. “You glowered at me like I was out of my mind saying the things I did when we first interacted in the hospital. Other than that, your antagonism was mind-boggling. You unleashed it full-force the moment I revealed I was your husband. You looked seconds away from committing a murder every time I initiated conversation.”

Gentle humor laced Oh Sehun’s tone. Jongin, on the other hand, felt his face flame with instant embarrassment. Was that what the Oh Sehun in his universe saw whenever they crossed paths? How could he give such a poor impression of himself?

“Initially, when I wholeheartedly still believed you were my husband, I wondered if your resentment was so strong it transcended memory loss,” Oh Sehun said, giving a humored smile. “Now, I’m quite relieved that isn’t the case. However, I _am_ mystified about your attitude toward me.”

“In my defense, I didn’t know at the time I was… here. In this different universe where we’re apparently married.” Jongin took a deep inhale and exhale to curb his urge to grimace. “Or my other self and you are married. I still can’t believe it, to be honest. It’s like my worst nightmare realized.” Noticing Oh Sehun’s surprised face, Jongin hurried to correct, “I don’t mean you! Sure, you’re Oh Sehun, too, but whatever contemptuous thing I say about him, it’s directed at the other one I unfortunately have to see numerous times for as long as we run in the same circles. Not… you.” Jongin ruffled his hair to allay the mounting frustration. “Geez, this is so hard. Just know that whatever curse I attach to his name, be assured it’s not you.”

“Um, thanks?” Oh Sehun looked more relaxed, now. Freer. “One last thing. My assumption you were suffering from memory loss shouldn’t be brushed off as groundless. Amnesiacs would be rightfully distrustful of strangers force-feeding them facts. I was hurt a lot when you continuously rejected and denied our relationship. If you thought I was stubborn in my advances, I hope you understand it comes from a place of my own denial that you forgot me, and the hopefulness that if I did my best, you would eventually remember. All of that happened because it didn’t cross my mind my husband who was hospitalized was not exactly the person I’ve known most of my life.”

Jongin assumed this might have been weighing heavy on Oh Sehun’s mind. He was glad they had this conversation—conducted civilly from beginning to end, at that. In a way, he, too, felt freer.

“Your resemblance with my husband is uncanny,” Oh Sehun pointed out. “You sound the same, too. Same name, same birthday. No offense, but regardless of the similarities, you’re very different people.”

“None taken. I agree. For one thing, your husband and I have different occupations.”

Oh Sehun smiled upon learning Jongin’s profession. “Many have told my husband he could have passed for one if he didn’t become a ballet dancer. His form is good for it, they say. There’s some comfort knowing he achieved one of his dreams somewhere else.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but… how are you not weirded out by this entire situation?” It was the sole question Jongin hadn’t found an answer to so far, and one he was determined to know. “If this happened to someone else, they’d have kicked me out or called the cops on me. Is it my turn to be suspicious?” He posed the last question as a joke.

“My mind hasn’t quite adjusted yet, but you could say my husband influenced me with his theories about parallel universes and alternate dimensions. He’s the biggest sci-fi and fantasy fan I know. I could leave him in a library filled with books of those two genres only, and he wouldn’t even know I’ve gone,” Oh Sehun joked, laughing. “He always shares his personal theories and intriguing findings with me, whether or not they’re legitimate or backed by the sciences. He’s a persuasive speaker—even I was sold by the theory of other existing realities aside from this one, and I’m more of an action and romance film kind of guy.”

Fantastic. If Jongin’s other self was a believer of those, this might be easier to stream along. “It’s kind of funny, isn’t it? What’s happening to us right now is pretty much like a sci-fi or fantasy movie plot.”

Oh Sehun smiled his agreement. It didn’t last: a worried look crossed his face soon enough. “Wherever Jongin might have ended up, he must be scared since things could be drastically different to what he’s accustomed. I pray he’s not in danger, wherever parallel universe he finds himself. Ideally, I’d want him to find my other self, but who knows if I’m a good person there?”

Jongin chuckled nervously at the prospect of the Oh Sehun he knew finding his other self. “There’s like a hundred parallel universes existing, so we won’t know where he ended up. What we can hope for is him running into the kind and gentle version of you. Did that make sense?” There had to be a way to talk about this without getting confused. “Anyway, since a great portion of this misunderstanding has been cleared, I… would like to apologize for how I treated you before. I can’t help it—any and all encounters with the Oh Sehun in my world just makes me bitter and heated and vicious. If I offended you with my words and actions, I’m honestly sorry for those.”

“I accept your apology, if you’ll have mine, too.” Jongin’s confusion must’ve shown on his face, but Oh Sehun cleared it right after by explaining, “In my genuine belief you are the Jongin I know and married, and stubbornly believing you must’ve acquired a rare variety of amnesia, I might’ve encroached too much on your personal space and made you uncomfortable. It was not done out of malicious intent. If it came across like that, I apologize.”

Pleasant, satisfying relief flooded Jongin’s entire being. “Apology accepted. Now that that’s out of the way, I have to figure out how to return to my own universe. Looks like I’ll be sticking around for a while longer until I find a solution.”

“Is that alright with you?” Oh Sehun asked, suddenly concerned. “Technically, we’re known to be married, but nobody knows you’re not the Kim Jongin they’re familiar with. I’ll understand if you don’t want to live under the same roof. It can feel weird. You can live in my husband’s old house, if you want. Aunt Dooshim sometimes sleeps there when she has business in Seoul. I think she’ll be delighted to see you there when she does.”

At the beginning, finding a way to leave this house was Jongin’s ultimate goal. Now, with the air cleared between them and gaining a better understanding of each other and the situation, continuing to live under the same roof might feel weird in some way. Yet, unbelievably, he was reconsidering his stance. Jongin reasoned that after fixing the miscommunication problem, he could, more or less, treat this Oh Sehun fairly and see him for who he was. Jongin would no longer mix him up with the insufferable and brazen Oh Sehun from his universe.

“We can treat this like a roommate situation. Did you have roommates in college? Something like that.”

Oh Sehun looked almost shy when he answered, “I lived alone off-campus, actually. I did have friends who rented apartments and split rent with roommates, so I have an idea of what it might be like. Two people who are basically strangers and living under one roof can get to know each other slowly, right?”

Oh Sehun’s optimism made Jongin unable to say no or refute him. He wondered very briefly if the Oh Sehun from his universe was capable of showing this sort of optimism. Jongin shook his head. Why was it that Oh Sehun could still annoy him even in another universe?

They finished dinner in a far more amiable atmosphere Jongin would like to experience more. He insisted on helping Oh Sehun clear up the table as thanks for the food, ignoring his refusal.

“I’ll help you find a way to return to your universe,” Oh Sehun said, after slipping on his dishwashing gloves. Jongin noticed how horribly the neon pink gloves clashed with his white shirt and black slacks, but Oh Sehun wore them with pride. “Tell me where I can start looking. It’s better to work together than alone. I’ll do everything to get my husband back.”

Jongin smiled, despite himself. He didn’t think he could get used to listening to someone—to Oh Sehun, among all the people in the existing parallel universes known and unknown—talk about his other self with every ounce of affection. Although his knowledge about their relationship was scarce, Jongin could say his other self was lucky to have someone who prayed for his well-being; worried for his safety. Someone, though unexpected, who loved him, would move universes for him, and believed he would return home someday.

☆彡

The grand talk demolished the gigantic iron wall between them and segued to a natural progression stemming from a joint effort of getting to know each other.

Gaining relief and comfort from Sehun’s acknowledgment of this odd setup, Jongin saw it pointless to continue hiding his secret ability. Sehun’s face was hilarious in the way his eyes bulged and mouth dropped open when Jongin demonstrated his teleportation for the first time. Sehun had looked skeptical at the claim. Challenged, Jongin told him to go into the kitchen. He sat five seconds longer in the living room couch before appearing in front of a flabbergasted Sehun, dissolving into a fit of laughter at his priceless expression.

Jongin shared the basics of his abilities, what he knew so far, and why he highly suspected it had something to do with this situation. Together with Moonkyu’s contributions via lengthy texts and a list of helpful links on KakaoTalk (his job as a food blogger kept him busy and moving all over the country), Jongin digging through hundreds upon hundreds of internet search results (and sometimes stumbling onto the annals of occult-type stuff), and Sehun’s surprisingly wacky ideas he collated from colleagues and subordinates, they were able to piece together a convincing theory, if not the most foolproof.

“Two objects cannot exist in the same space at the same time. That’s what the law of physics claims,” Jongin read aloud from a bookmarked article, one balmy night in July. He and Sehun occupied one of the sofas in the garden, stuck to their respective gadgets. “I think this is what happened to us. My theory is that your husband got into an accident here at the exact moment I did in my own universe. It might’ve caused an upset in all the universes or a dimensional tear that had us switch places.” He almost didn’t want to tell Sehun his next thought, but he owed it to him to be truthful. “Reminder that I’m speaking in rhetoric. When I offer theories, I speak with the assumption my other self did end up in my universe and not somewhere else.”

Sehun gnawed on his lower lip, looking thoughtful. Jongin used his silence to wrap the bandage on his arm. Failed twice. His right arm had shown marginal improvement in the past two weeks thanks to medication, calcium intake, and Sehun’s continuous feeding of food abundant with mentioned mineral. Sometimes it ached and throbbed if he moved his arm too much while sleeping, but those didn’t last, and he made conscious effort not to disturb the injury.

On his third failed attempt, Sehun took the bandage from him, seeking silent permission with a stare. At Jongin’s nod, he wrapped it around his arm with meticulous care and flourish. He couldn’t commend him for his handiwork upon seeing Sehun’s contemplative expression.

“For my sanity and peace of mind, I pray your theory is the one that really happened. I can take my husband switching places with you if it means he ended up safe in your universe.”

Jongin dared reach out to pat Sehun on the shoulder. The gesture wasn’t as natural as he liked, but he couldn’t bring himself to do more. Baby steps. “For your sake and his, I hope this is truly the case.”

“So that’s one theory to explain how and why you switched. How… how do we get you to switch again?”

Jongin was sincerely apologetic for his next reply. “Sadly, I’m not sure how to go about that. If we go by what’s suggested in movies and books, he and I would have to do the exact thing that got us here in the first place.” Sehun’s face paled, and Jongin scrambled to rectify his mistake. “I’m not saying your husband should throw himself into oncoming traffic! I’m not callous enough to suggest that. Besides, there’s no way to establish communication between universes. And who knows where he’ll end up if the idea doesn’t work?”

Sehun’s face turned paler from the morbid implication. “Please, don’t joke about that. Don’t even say it again. Do you know how much I cried when I received the call from the hospital? I can’t go through that anymore.”

“I—sorry.” A flash of guilt assaulted Jongin as he apologized; another, while watching Sehun bury his face between his hands. Despair rolled off him in waves, seemingly reliving that horrible day once more through unwanted flashbacks.

Sehun appeared a little more put together when his hands fell away from his face. He pushed back his hair, staring far off into the distance for an indeterminate amount of time. Jongin let him; distracted himself by going through his other bookmarked articles, the faint cries of cicadas echoing quietly across the garden.

Sensing Sehun was less tense when he started inquiring about an article’s validity, Jongin gathered his courage and asked, “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about this now, but I’m curious how your husband got into an accident.” He waited for what seemed like an hour and prepared to take it back, but Sehun surprised him by supplying an answer.

The root cause, Jongin came to find out, was eerily similar to plot devices unique to romance movies: a married couple recently spending less and less time with each other. Sehun was almost always neck-deep in corporate work. His husband, on the other hand, was cast in back-to-back productions selected to do tours domestic and overseas. Their individual careers were thriving at the cost of the marriage being sacrificed. Dates kept getting canceled; promises, broken. Vacations had to be postponed until it became completely forgotten. They seldom ate together at home anymore. If they did meet at home, one was too tired to carry a conversation except bidding ‘good night,’ and the other was busy preparing for bed unless already asleep.

“My husband understands I tend to get busier than usual at certain parts of the year. He does grouse openly about the many missed chances of spending time together. I do my best to make amends. I honestly thought we would be okay in the long run, even if completely making it up to him was taking too long. I guess my complacency was what got us here in the first place.”

Sehun spoke at length of what happened next. Jongin absorbed the information, except the deeper they delved, the more the account sounded like his other self adopted the plight of nighttime drama protagonists. Before this conversation, he formed several assumptions of what could’ve served as the catalyst for their switch. The one he least suspected—and the most clichéd of them all—shockingly turned out to be the truth.

“No offense, I believe you, but all of this sounds so…” Jongin waved his good hand about to help him articulate better. “Why is my other self living the soap opera life? Instead of unconditionally believing in you, or deliberately carving out time you could use to spend with each other, your husband completely misread the situation about you entering the motel with a drunken business partner?”

“To be fair, the accumulated frustration must’ve influenced his judgment. I’m more hurt he would think I’d do the unthinkable, but I’m not absolutely blameless, either,” Sehun said, sadness apparent on his face, in his voice. “I failed to assure him nothing fishy was happening despite the growing number of canceled dates. It’s not farfetched to say he might have already been deeply suspicious of my actions after not showing up on our anniversary date.”

“I can’t believe I’m this dumb in this universe,” Jongin remarked, shaking his head.

“My husband is the smartest person I know,” Sehun said in his defense right away, frowning slightly. “I have my faults, too. I should’ve been more assuring, or tried harder to coax out his true feelings about our situation. I told him I was sitting for a dinner meeting with a business partner. He told me he was hanging out with co-dancers after rehearsals. Fate must’ve played us both to have the restaurant I dined at and the café my husband stepped out of to be situated across each other with the highway separating us.”

As it turned out, Sehun’s business partner was notoriously known for being a messy, touchy, emotional drunk. Sehun couldn’t find it in him to abandon his business partner, and after puking on the pavement for the third time, he decided to set him up for the night at the closest motel in the area.

“So, in spite of your good intentions, your husband thought you were having an affair behind his back because the business partner clung to you like a leech and attempted to plant one on your face before his horrified eyes,” Jongin said, mind reeling in sheer disbelief. How much more clichéd could this story unfold?

“I left the motel after making sure my business partner was settled. You could say there was hell waiting for me outside.” Remorse showed on Sehun’s face. "My husband was inconsolable. No shouting matches were had, but I would’ve preferred that. At least I would know what he was thinking. Looking at the hurt on his face felt like murder.”

“Damn, don’t tell me he ran away before you could explain yourself. No. No, this isn’t the time to keep quiet. Oh, my god!” Jongin exclaimed, torn between laughing and raging. “Let me guess: he ran away, you couldn’t find him; somehow, he abandoned logic and crossed the road blindly, _then_ you got the phone call.”

Sehun nodded. Jongin hooted and shook his head in disbelief. “Police reports said witnesses warned him not to cross the road after the light turned green. That’s when your body was found. His wallet must’ve flown from the impact, so they contacted me.”

Ridiculous as the entire backstory sounded, something else must’ve happened in the millisecond his other self collided with a vehicle. Sehun already verified his other self couldn’t teleport. Jongin guessed an alternative: his other self wishing for something so bad he miraculously moved the universe hard enough until it was granted. The accident happened at night. Jongin’s happened at night, too. The difference was in location: Jongin’s accident happened at Cheongdam, his other self at Songpa. That alone was a missed opportunity; in some media Jongin consumed, portals connecting parallel universes tend to appear at the site of disappearance.

The days Jongin spent searching for viable solutions were also poured into learning about Sehun. If Jongin was going to continue staying in this house or needed to throw off suspicion when facing people for whatever reason, he had to learn about this Sehun’s habits and whatnot for as much as he could. So he started looking closer, taking note. Observing.

Jongin noticed Sehun never strayed from the usual rice during breakfast. Sehun told him eating rice in the mornings was vital for him; anything else was game for the rest of the day. The rice was usually paired with grilled fish or a stew. If Sehun woke up a little later than his usual time, last night’s leftovers would either be reheated or transformed to something else but just as tasty.

“Is your arm hurting?” Sehun asked, one weekend morning. His gaze dropped to Jongin’s bowl still almost filled with rice. “Is the food not to your liking? Should I prepare something else for you?”

“No, no.” Jongin shook his head to emphasize. “I don’t normally eat huge breakfasts. I’m more of a toast person—it’s light, and I don’t feel as bloated for training. Why did I eat what you served when I couldn’t stand you before? I can’t train with a broken arm, so might as well make the most of it. I need to shed off the weight gain soon, though. And I ate so I could recover and get out of here faster.” He said it as a joke, and they shared a laugh. “Since we’re in more or less good terms now, I don’t see why I should continue refusing whatever you cook.”

Sehun smiled as he shared a tidbit. “My husband tends to eat lightly in the mornings, too. He eats rice but in measured portions. He’s very careful of what he eats majority of the year to match the image of his character. If you’d like, I can prepare toast for you starting tomorrow. What do you want with it? Tell me, don’t be shy. I’ll set aside the dishes you can reheat for lunch when I’m off to work. If you prefer eating out, that’s fine, too. Just be careful with your arm.”

This extravagant house, the exquisite grand piano, the custom-made suits worn to work—for the longest time, Jongin suspected this Sehun belonged to Seoul’s upper class. Flipping through a magazine he found under the living room coffee table confirmed his suspicions. As one of the two Asians who landed a spot in the Forbes’ Under 30 list, a brief article written about him stated Sehun hailed from old money, and his family owned one of the country’s top conglomerate companies. Digging a little deeper online returned a number of articles mostly listing Sehun’s philanthropic work for orphanages and volunteer groups involved in caring and protecting abandoned dogs. Some were business-related, but they contained terms Jongin couldn’t understand and skimmed through them. Surprisingly, there were about three articles that wrote about Sehun’s wedding. The wedding had apparently been low-profile and only close family and friends were invited.

One business article covered the topic on the country’s conglomerate heirs. Sehun’s section detailed his educational attainment, strengths and weaknesses, achievements thus far since working for the company. Comparisons between him and his father were done. Critics lauded him for his charisma and budding business insight, though very much green in other areas and faced fierce competition against his father’s trusted executives for promotion to vice chairman.

Taking that into account, Jongin no longer wondered why Sehun stayed out late some nights and returned looking like he’d gone through five sets of wars. These were the same nights the heavy scent of meat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke clung heavily to his clothes that Jongin needn’t approach him to get a whiff of it. If Sehun wasn’t too tired, he’d take time to hold a short conversation with Jongin in the living room. If he was, Sehun would politely excuse himself to retreat to his room.

Proving his worth in the business world must be a tiring, endless climb, Jongin mused. Somehow, it explained why Sehun must’ve been neglectful of his husband, albeit unintentional. It must also explain why he’d sometimes see light coming from beneath the door of what Jongin assumed was Sehun’s study on his way to the kitchen for a glass of water in the middle of the night.

One night, the door was left ajar, and Jongin dared a peek. The large study was decorated sparingly with the essentials that loaned to full concentration for work: a bookshelf lining the wall with books arranged by spine color, a mahogany desk where a laptop sat open, a large window for sunlight to pour in during the day, a couch for taking power naps. Behind the desk sat Sehun, slumped over and fast asleep. The angle of his neck didn’t look comfortable. Combining the lights overhead and the soft glare of the laptop, Sehun looked untroubled and years younger in slumber.

Jongin debated between grabbing the throw blanket draped on the couch or waking him. Sehun had been doing a ton of overtime lately if not wooing business partners, and he continued working even after coming back. Vaguely, Jongin wondered what his other self did in times like these. Jongin could commiserate with working hard but not overworking.

Crushing the last of his hesitation, Jongin gently shook Sehun’s shoulder. “Hey, wake up. You can’t sleep here. You’ll catch a cold.”

“What—?” Sehun suddenly straightened up, eyes wide open, then began drooping again. When he registered what was going on, he looked a little more alert. “Oh, hello. Was there something you needed?” He yawned, then stretched out his arms above his head.

“If you’re going to sleep, do it in your bedroom. Your neck and back are going to kill you in the morning.”

Sehun hummed, working out the kinks in his neck. “I should, huh?” He glanced at his laptop screen. “Wow, I really fell asleep working. I was so sure it was only past eleven before accidentally dozing off.”

“Well, clearly it’s not eleven anymore. Up. Save your work and turn that laptop off.” Surprisingly, Sehun didn’t argue or tried to change Jongin’s mind. “Is this a normal thing for you? Bringing work at home?”

“When it gets extremely busy at the office. Sometimes I end up sleeping in the office.” Jongin’s horror must’ve shown on his face, because Sehun looked at him and laughed a little. His hair, usually combed neatly, was now disheveled. “If you’re hygiene-conscious, I do have a spare room and bathroom installed in my office. And a closet, of course—you really think I’m going to face my staff in the suit they saw me wearing the previous day?”

“ _Wow_ ,” was Jongin’s unrelated answer, a bit surprised Sehun acted cheeky with him. “Suddenly, you’re so chatty.”

“Hmm, is that right? Maybe it’s because I’ve napped and feel strangely energized. And hungry.”

“You skipped dinner?”

“Dinner was seven hours ago. Everything’s digested by now.” Sehun seemed to hesitate on his next words. It didn’t take long for Jongin to find out what he had in mind. “What’s your opinion on late-night snacking?”

Late-night snacking was a luxury for Jongin. He was required to maintain a specific weight and figure, and though he snacked round the clock, he had to watch what he was eating, too. Once the season was over and he could take it easy, he’d freely indulge on a ton of snacks and dishes he withheld himself from devouring. Currently, it was off-season back in his universe, despite the continued training, so Jongin was free to eat anything he wanted for at least two to three months.

Late-night snacking by Sehun’s definition meant every street food imaginable in double portions delivered to the doorstep. Jongin was almost sure Sehun would whip out the familiar pot widely used for cooking _ramyun_. The snack was one of Jongin’s staples before he started earning a little more and getting sponsorships, and he wouldn’t have minded if a rich heir believed in this. Jongin didn’t expect a rich heir would snack on commoner food. He watched Sehun closely as if expecting his façade to slip, searched for minuscule signs of disgust. What Jongin found was a childlike delight that compelled him to eat along; eat more.

A sneaky voice at the back of Jongin’s mind tossed him a question unprompted. Was the Oh Sehun from his universe strict about dieting or also had an appetite fit for three people? Jongin had heard bits and pieces about his apparent dislike of ramyun.

“You know what I could use right now? Bubble tea. Too bad my favorite shop is closed at this hour,” Sehun said, quite regretful.

Jongin nearly choked on a sausage. That was unexpected. The Oh Sehun he knew was also known to frequent a bubble tea shop and was never shy about his love for the drink. Rumors claimed his relationship with the old lady who owned the shop was like grandmother and grandchild. Jongin remembered the name of the shop—Cofioca—but he never went there willingly. Moonkyu was the bigger fan of bubble tea; Cofioca happened to be one of his favorite shops. Jongin merely tagged along to accompany Moonkyu to get his fix. He wasn’t a fan of the drink.

He must’ve been talking aloud if Sehun said, staring, “What do you know: my husband isn’t a bubble tea fan, either. I might be at fault for that. I recommended my favorite flavor. He told me my sugar tolerance must be incredibly high to withstand drinking the chocolate monstrosity.”

“Your husband doesn’t like sweet stuff, huh?”

“He doesn’t even like cake. I’ve never heard of someone who doesn’t like cake. When he told me the first time, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.” Sehun narrowed his eyes at Jongin. “Don’t tell me you don’t like cake, too.”

Jongin burst out laughing. “I can definitely say that’s what sets me apart from your husband. There’s a long list of sweet stuff I won’t touch. Except cake. I love cake.”

The entire time they ate, Sehun carefully scooped out pieces of food Jongin could easily pick with chopsticks. Although he still dropped food on occasion, Jongin’s left hand was slowly becoming accustomed to holding and maneuvering utensils as he pleased. Since becoming friendlier with each other, Sehun would inquire about his broken arm, if he might need a new prescription for painkillers. Jongin assured his medication hadn’t ran out and would inform him right away if it did.

“Don’t hesitate to tell me if you need anything. I’d like to believe our newfound friendship will help us communicate better.” Sehun’s smile stretched to a boyish grin. It dipped a little from a sudden thought that struck him. “I think we should buy you some new shirts.”

This time, Jongin dropped a fishcake on his lap. “N-no need! The washing machine and dryer are very convenient. I’m used to washing clothes after bathing. It’s not a big deal, really.” He tacked on a flippant laugh at the end, inwardly grimacing how unnatural it sounded.

He didn’t exactly lie. Since he started living in this house and hadn’t grasped his current reality, Jongin had only been using and reusing the clothes he had on his back on top of the ones Sehun loaned him. On the first week of his stay, Sehun had tried in vain to convince him to wear the other Jongin’s clothes since there were many more of those. Jongin had screeched he would rather stay naked than wear _anything_ he provided. Coincidentally, the washing machine and dryer were models he knew to operate, and so began his everyday cycle of wash and wear.

Jongin still stood by the opinion he shouldn’t wear his other self’s clothes, sans screeching. It felt extremely invasive, creepy in some ways, and outright disconcerting. Told Sehun as much.

“I’ll respect your decision about my husband’s clothes; I apologize if my insistence on them in the past made you uncomfortable.” Jongin thought that would be the end of the conversation. But Sehun wasn’t done: “Isn’t it time-consuming washing clothes every day? You’re also tending to a broken arm. Let me have this, please. I insist. You’re a guest in my house. I wouldn’t want you to be inconvenienced in any way. As long as you’re living under my roof, I want to play the role of a good host and provide what you need.”

Jongin prided himself in his ability to resist any sort of persuasion from anybody else. And yet the pleading, earnest look on Sehun’s face managed to extract a positive response from him—an extreme rarity; seldom did he commit lapses of judgment—and the dazzling grin he received right after was disarming.

This must be what his other self must see every day, Jongin thought.

This must also be what his other self held onto once he and Sehun started spending more time apart than together.

Jongin didn’t realize how massive the difference in his and Sehun’s upbringing was until the day for clothes shopping came. Growing up in a practical household influenced his future shopping decisions; emphasized exercising frugality without sacrificing quality or comfort. The innocent assumption they would be browsing the aisles at a cheap clothing store quickly dissolved when they arrived at Apgujeong’s high-class streets.

“Good sir, hold on one second.” Jongin grabbed Sehun’s arm before entering a boutique and half-led, half-pulled him to the side. “When you said ‘clothes shopping,’ I didn’t mean give me a heart attack with the price tags. Why should a comfortable set of pajamas amount to millions of won? Imagine how many pajama sets I can buy with that amount?”

Sehun must’ve caught on fast if the fast-dawning realization on his face was any indication. “I apologize. I should’ve asked where you do your shopping. I know the shops he visits, so I brought you here by habit.” Red dusted his cheeks.

Jongin glanced nervously at the high-end boutique, storefront and glass doors intimidating. He wondered if his other self had expensive taste, or this Sehun was just used to spoiling him. “Not to be rude, but it’s impractical to get me pricy clothes since my stay is temporary. So, why don’t I save you those millions of won and go for cheaper alternatives? The most important thing here is I’ll be dressed.”

Sehun was smiling a little too fondly for his comfort. Jongin raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“You sounded like my husband just now when we first started dating,” Sehun confessed. Jongin tugged at his arm and steered him away from the boutique. “He was very conscious of the prices whenever we browsed here or somewhere else. It was always a struggle for him to look away or narrow down his choices to one. I told him I’d buy him everything, no big deal. He wouldn’t let me.”

“Did you listen to him? Something tells me you didn’t.”

“Of course,” Sehun said, looking proud of himself. “I pay for the items he places on the counter.” His expression turned prouder, and Jongin was about to find out why. “And when he isn’t paying attention, I tell the saleslady assisting us to keep track of the items he can’t part with and set them aside. I pay for those in secret, then have it delivered to my office before heading home and surprising him.”

“You sly fox!” Jongin couldn’t help exclaiming; couldn’t help whacking Sehun on the shoulder as laughter seized him. “God, you are insufferable in a good way. My other self is spoiled and living the life, huh?”

Sehun’s blush intensified. “He scolds me, that’s for sure. He gets nervous doing the math. It’s not like I’m leeching off my parents. The money I use comes from my own hard work, so I can spend it comfortably. That’s not to say I buy everything on sight. I’m careful with my finances, even if I might not look the type.”

An admirable mindset, Jongin conceded. Snap judgments aside, he could also acknowledge his other self seemed to have married someone with a good head on their shoulders.

Shopping with Sehun turned out to be fun, despite Jongin’s initial doubts. A tiny part of him kept close watch of Sehun’s reactions and gestures, who entered every store with open curiosity on his face and marveling at the clothes on display. Sehun seemed sincere in his interaction with sales staff, entertaining their questions while asking some of his own. He pitched in clothing suggestions while taking Jongin’s healing arm into consideration; persuaded him to get outfits for outdoors.

“You should get some,” Sehun insisted, earnest in his reasoning. “I imagine it can get boring staying inside the house. It should be alright to go to the park or anywhere you please as long as you’re careful with your arm.”

“Your husband is right,” said the salesperson assisting them, cheerful in tone, grin stretched wide.

Jongin pointedly ignored that remark; didn’t miss the way Sehun’s face lit up in surprise, then smiled, when he loudly declared he might take a look at the jeans section.

An hour of browsing, walking, deliberating, and haggling flew past. Exiting the last store, everything totaled to two shopping bags filled with lounge wear, boxers, and some outdoor wear like Sehun suggested. Jongin was already more than grateful for the amount of new clothes he’d be wearing in the coming days—it’d certainly save him time waiting for the dryer to do its magic while standing in the laundry room with only a towel to protect his modesty. Sehun asked a few times if these were all he needed, looking a little skeptical; looking prepared to spend more. Jongin had to drag him away before he could.

They walked past an atrium where people sat on the bleachers to rest their feet or used it as a rendezvous. On the open space was a grand piano standing atop an elevated platform, majestic in its glossy finish. Jongin noticed the other pianos on display afterward, but the first one was the most refined-looking among them. Information provided to the side listed the pianos’ brand names, materials used in their assembly, assorted functionalities, the exorbitant prices Jongin pretended he didn’t see. Staff stood watch nearby, prepared to assist potential customers.

Sehun slowed in his steps, taking in the sight of pianos. “Could you wait one moment?” he requested, and wasted no time approaching one of the staff once Jongin nodded. The staff listened to what Sehun had to say, nodded, then ushered him to the black grand piano.

Sehun at the grand piano looked refined and stunning, posture straight, fingers sweeping across the keys in the way of someone who’d taken heaps of lessons. The silvery, harmonious tone that came out of the instrument attracted attention, stopped passers-by in their tracks to listen more or catch a glimpse. Jongin didn’t recognize the song, but he thought it beautiful. The crowd that gravitated toward the grand piano shared a similar opinion with the thunderous applause they bestowed on Sehun when he finished.

“That was refreshing,” Sehun told him, after walking away from the atrium. “I haven’t played the piano in years.”

Jongin recalled the piano he saw at the house the first time. “Are you a pianist when you’re not a businessman? You really are the typical chaebol in dramas.”

Sehun laughed first, appeared bashful next. “I took a lot of lessons during my primary years. The lessons became on and off when I started getting busier in high school. I can play a lot of pieces without needing a sheet, but my technique has gone rusty. When the mood hits me, I play the piano at home. My husband loves listening to me play whenever I do."

“I sense a romantic story lurking somewhere.”

The red on Sehun’s cheeks was fast resembling a strawberry’s. “Playing the piano led to my husband and I’s first meeting.”

“Let me guess: he was taking morning classes at the company, and you were part-timing as a ballet rehearsal pianist.”

“No, it didn’t go like that. Depending on your interpretation, you can either think it fantastical or clichéd.”

“I am a living example of fantastical. I don’t think anything you throw my way will be shocking anymore. Hit me with your best shot.”

The first meeting went like this: back in college, Sehun’s parents encouraged him to take up a part-time job to learn the hardships of earning money and gaining work experience. His parents told him it would be ideal if the part-time job he took was in line with any of their businesses, but any form of work was fine as long as it was legal, treated it nobly, and poured his best in assigned tasks and responsibilities.

Sehun applied for two-part time jobs with flexible working hours. He juggled between those while doing his best to keep his grades afloat. One of his part-time jobs was a lounge pianist: he would play five times a week; three if he needed to prepare for exams or finish up major requirements. The pay was so-so, but Sehun was guaranteed a free meal during or after work, and the staff was nice to him. Sehun had been working three months when he first met his husband.

Jongin blinked, feeling his innards shuddering from this undoubtedly hackneyed story. “So you met him in a swanky hotel, but he wasn’t single at the time?”

Sehun nodded. “Every time he came to the lounge for dinner or to unwind, he was always with his boyfriend. One look and you could tell they were very much in love. Somehow, when their visits increased, the fondness in their gazes took the opposite route. The night I got to talk to him for the first time, it had to be after his ex punched me by accident.”

“ _What?_ ” Jongin exclaimed—shocked, entertained, curious. What kind of hooligan was his other self surrounding himself with before meeting this Sehun?

Conversation halted briefly on their arrival at Cofioca. Jongin almost didn’t recognize the shop until he looked up and saw the sign. The interior was more shocking with its different layout, decorations, and wall colors. The cramped shop from his memory was a stark contrast to the expansive floor space and double the amount of tables scattered across.

The old lady owner was the same. She immediately rounded the counter to give Sehun a hug and was about to do the same to Jongin if he hadn’t stepped back, more out of surprise and not because he disliked body contact. The owner’s eyes widened and softened in sympathy when Sehun told her about the accident and played the memory loss card. Smooth save, though Jongin felt a tinge bad for reacting the way he did; requested a redo from the owner, which she happily gave.

Seated with their drinks, Sehun picked up where they left off in their previous conversation. “When we started getting closer after the incident, my husband told me he and his ex started having tons of problems, and that night became the deal breaker for him. He was tired of their senseless fights and empty reconciliations, so he called it off. On the spot. The ex didn’t take it too well. Anger and alcohol is never the greatest combination. The ex was becoming a public nuisance; of course security would be called. I might have overestimated myself thinking I could do something. I tried stopping the ex and… well.”

“You got decked.”

“That was humiliating.” Sehun covered his face with his hands, smile a mix of sheepish and embarrassed. “Thankfully, he didn’t break my nose. It was my husband who took me to the hospital. He was so apologetic; you can tell he felt real bad for me, even if it was his ex who should’ve done what he did. Guess you could say we hit it off from there.”

“I hope that ex got his ass handed back to him. Damn, why is my other self like this?” Jongin shook his head, sipping his lemonade.

“It’s partly why my husband gets antsy when I tell him I’m staying out late for a dinner meeting. It’s no secret how our society works. Dinner meetings are just veiled terms for alcohol indulging.” Sehun wrinkled his nose. “I hold my alcohol pretty good, but for his sake, I keep the count at one. Good thing I’m in a position where I can confidently skip on the drinks without a higher-ranked senior from the office telling me I’m being impolite by not drinking more.”

Jongin briefly wondered again if the Oh Sehun in his world was a strong drinker or deflated after the first bottle. He himself could do social drinking on special events or celebratory dinners, but never for leisure. Definitely not. Why would anyone willingly subject themselves to the vile taste of liquor in the first place?

“Not a drinker, too?” Sehun asked, amusement lacing his voice. “How did I know? You were grimacing during the alcohol talk. That’s fine. My husband is similar. He can’t understand people who enjoy liquor unironically. He does tolerate my drinking and trusts me to stay sober away from home.”

“And how about at home?” Jongin recalled seeing a well-filled alcohol cabinet in the house, expensive-looking bottles on display coming from various parts of the world with names he couldn’t read or pronounce.

“The count still stays at one.” Sehun took a generous sip of his chocolate bubble tea. “I’ve had my wild days in college. Now, I have to take care of myself and my liver, too. Just because it won’t cause problems now doesn’t mean it won’t catch up to me later.” A considerable pause befell them. “You know, not that I think it’s unfair, but I also have my own curiosities. Would you hear them, too? We did agree about getting to know each other better.”

“Sure, I can tell you anything you want to know.”

Sehun grinned. At the moment, he didn’t look like the aspiring chairman of a large conglomerate but more of a regular young man enjoying his free time. “Tell me how you and my other self first met.”

“That cursed meeting, huh?” Jongin couldn’t help blurting out, eyes narrowing as his thoughts drifted to the unwanted recollection. Smacking his lips together, he said, “Right. I’ll tell you. Our first meeting went something like this…”

☆彡

Jongin’s biggest comfort was, despite the minor differences between here and the universe he grew up in, knowing his family members and a majority of their memories and dynamics remained virtually unchanged.

He had finally worked up the courage to tell Sehun he wanted to talk to his mother. Sehun readily agreed, and together they rehearsed what to say should Jongin act or react out of character. Guilt lanced through Jongin at the notion of lying to his own mother, yet it couldn’t be helped in this situation. He could only hope for her understanding if, in the future, she found out the young man she talked to today wasn’t the actual son she raised. Jongin strongly believed his mother to be an open-minded person. There was no guarantee she might believe in the theory of parallel universes, but he extracted a promise from Sehun to convince her.

Sehun told him he’d been keeping his mother-in-law updated since the accident. Jongin’s heart broke to learn she had cried upon learning what happened to her only son. Sehun also told her about Jongin’s “memory loss.” She must’ve been too deep in her despair if she kept asking about her son but couldn’t work up the courage to face him.

Understandable. Jongin easily placed himself in his mother’s shoes. It would be devastating for a mother to be looked at by her son like she was a complete stranger.

Jongin sat on the couch, watching Sehun set up the laptop on the coffee table in silence. Trepidation surged through him. A thousand questions and doubts raced through his mind. The bond he shared with his mother was a close one—the possibility she might catch on he wasn’t exactly the Kim Jongin she birthed in this universe was scarily high. And yet when her face appeared on the laptop screen, Jongin burst into tears before he could stop himself. Perhaps the catalyst was the pent-up stress from endless adjustments he needed to do to survive in this universe. Perhaps it was also from seeing his mother for the first time in a long while and asked, in a voice that dripped with love and concern, if he recognized her.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there for you.” The deep remorse in his mother’s voice showed on her face. “I should be there taking care of you. My heart is eased knowing you are well and have not forgotten me. I know Sehun has been taking good care of you, as well.” She looked to the side since Sehun was seated beside Jongin. “It might not have been easy caring for him, but I appreciate it all the same. Please continue caring for my son since I can’t do it right now.”

Jongin wasn’t sure why he cried harder hearing that. Sehun had shown he was more than capable of abiding by her wishes. He could tell, based from their current interactions, Sehun knew how to take good care of people. When he went to bed an hour after the video call, staring at the ceiling and waiting for drowsiness to hit, Jongin decoded his feelings and ascertained he might have cried more from the fact that he missed his own mother, who was never shy in fretting and fussing over him from one mention of a body ache or the starting of a sprain.

But a part of him that came out at his more vulnerable moments whispered that maybe, in spite of the ignoring and denying, he also yearned for the comfort and care from someone who wasn’t an immediate family or a friend.

Midway to summer, Jongin returned to the hospital for his return visit. The doctor sounded optimistic declaring Jongin’s arm was healing nicely—no tenderness or swelling whatsoever. He advised Jongin to continue doing light exercises for his recovering arm.

“Your husband’s arm will be good as new as long as he listens to me,” the doctor told Sehun, who had been quietly listening and watching from the side. Although he had work today, he cleared his afternoon schedule on purpose to take Jongin to the hospital. Jongin insisted there was no need, but Sehun wouldn’t be convinced otherwise.

“That’s a relief, then,” Sehun said, visibly relaxed.

The doctor hummed, eyes twinkling in amusement as he looked from Jongin to Sehun. “It seems something has changed. I assume there had been no pressing problems whatsoever after taking your husband home a month and a half ago? Mr. Kim hasn’t shouted or glared at you once since entering my clinic.”

The lightning speed in which Jongin’s face heated versus the snail-like pace of scrambling for an excuse was downright laughable. “C’mon now, doctor, cut me some slack. I was shaken and I couldn’t recognize anyone; I had the right to panic and be suspicious.” He laid on the politeness thick; forced his mouth to curve upward in the same vein.

“That is one nosy doctor,” Jongin commented, on their way out of the hospital. “Why would he be so invested in someone else’s life?”

“You were shouting at the top of your lungs insisting I wasn’t your husband. That must’ve left a deep impression on him,” Sehun pointed out, amusement plainly audible. “One and a half month is a relatively long time past. Things have changed a lot between us.”

Acquainting themselves with each other in that span of time proved unexpectedly delightful, regardless of their rocky start. They laughed more, argued less; shared the similarities and differences between their universes, interesting quirks and anecdotes of personal experiences. If Jongin had been told he would be making a friend out of his rival’s other self before all this happened, he would’ve cursed that person to have a miserable life for the next ten years. Things had taken a drastic turn, however; and what Jongin assumed to be the worst nightmare of his life introduced to him a different perspective—one that nudged him to say _this is the Oh Sehun I can genuinely enjoy being friends with._

Jongin wriggled the fingers of his right hand. The pain on his arm had long subsided: the testament the bandages could come off anytime now. He could teleport as he pleased without the worry of going astray, though he had yet to test this in the coming days. Eating didn’t take him longer than usual anymore. Sometimes it felt like relearning how to hold and use chopsticks, but the food no longer fell once Jongin picked it up.

Sehun continued slicing his food for him; _only until you no longer need my help_ was always his reasoning if he sensed Jongin about to protest. He continued wrapping Jongin’s arm with clean bandages after his nightly bath. Jongin included Sehun’s laundry when he did his. During these times, he had the mischievous pleasure of turning a deaf ear on Sehun’s protests that he needn’t do it. Late-night snacking sessions had lessened, albeit for a good cause: Jongin managed to talk him out of bringing home too much work; that he should no longer act like a corporate director once he set foot inside his own house. Some weekends, they’d watch movies, though it felt more like a race to see who would scream first if Jongin chose a horror film on Netflix. This universe’s Sehun showed a liking for romantic foreign films.

Jongin sighed in bliss as he welcomed the cool, soothing air coming from the car’s air conditioning. The short walk from the hospital building to the car park gave them a taste of the thick and oppressive summer heat. He recalled reading the humidity would worsen in the following weeks. Quite a damper to his plans of going out and about by himself for the first time.

“Check for heat wave warnings before going out,” Sehun told him. “Weather reports have been saying summer this year is hotter than previous.” Stopping on a red light, he turned to Jongin and flashed him a smile. “I’m glad on your behalf—it’s about time you went out and about. This is a farfetched possibility, but in case you run into someone my husband and I both know, you’re free to use the accident excuse and claim you don’t recognize them.”

“Exactly what I was thinking of doing,” Jongin agreed. “It would be better if I don’t meet anyone, though. What if I panic and say the wrong thing? My other self might not let me live it down.” He groaned.

Sehun laughed, hands back on the steering wheel and preparing for the switch from red to green. “My husband is very understanding. He won’t take offense over a fixable mishap.” The car rolled forward and turned right. “In case you might need anything, feel free to drop by my office. Staff and security know my husband; you’ll automatically be granted entry.”

Jongin knew where the building was located and what it looked like. Naver gave him scenic photographs sourced from various articles. He’d yet to fish out an article giving a complete rundown of the building interior. Jongin wouldn’t be too surprised if the inside was as extravagant as the outside, if not more. The chaebol never cut corners when it came to flaunting the extent of what their money was capable of producing.

Sehun hadn’t shown any signs of spoiled chaebol behavior, despite the many signs and hints pointing to his affluent origins.

The reality of said origins was further driven home by the mythical black card laid out on the living room table before Jongin’s surprised eyes.

Early morning, first Monday of August, and Jongin’s mind was blanking the longer he stared at the card. He tuned out a bulk of what Sehun was telling him the moment the card came out.

“Why in the world would I need a black card?” Jongin questioned, stunned. He didn’t dare touch the card, afraid it might burst into flames if he did. Exaggerated, but when you possessed the ability to teleport, _anything_ was possible.

“My husband carries one with him all the time. I had it replaced after the accident since it was missing from the wallet when you returned it to me. No, no; I’m not accusing you of hiding or stealing it. I canceled the old card as precaution. Technically, your name is on the card, so you can use it.”

Jongin had never shaken his head so fast. “Look, the amount of power one card carries is overwhelming, not to mention stressful? And what if I get a craving for street food? Cards are practically useless with food carts.”

Immediate understanding showed on Sehun’s face. “You’re absolutely right. My bad, I failed to consider that. Sure, if you’re more comfortable with cash, I have some kept for emergencies.”

“Some” in Jongin’s vocabulary equated to a hundred thousand won or slightly higher. “Some” in Sehun’s vocabulary carried a different meaning, apparently, when he handed Jongin an envelope he procured from his bedroom. The envelope was light but the thickness of it set off alarm bells in Jongin’s mind.

Rightfully so: it contained wads of crisp ￦50,000 bills.

“There’s around ten million inside, I believe.” Sehun delivered the fact like one would report about the weather. He must’ve mistaken Jongin’s silence for something else, for he asked, after beats of awkward silence, “Are you alright…? Is ten million not enough? Should I go to the bank and withdraw more?”

Jongin would’ve been justified in fuming if this Sehun was an arrogant showoff. But the pure, honest way he asked worsened Jongin’s dazed, speechless state. The gap between the rich and middle class had never been more pronounced until now.

“You rich people are really something else,” Jongin remarked. Seeing Sehun’s surprised face, he lightened the mood by adding, “I’d feel like a walking bank with a target painted on my back if I carried all this outside. I can’t spend ten million in a day—who does that?”

“You’d be surprised,” Sehun commented, smiling wryly.

Vague accounts of the filthy rich and their casual spending of millions crossed Jongin’s mind. “I’m not comfortable carrying ten million around. It’s not meant to be a personal offense. Your husband is definitely more used to this than I am.”

“It took him years to be comfortable,” Sehun corrected, a soft smile on his face. “I love his frugality and practical mindset. Your reaction isn’t at all surprising to me, honestly. Just keep the money with you. No, I insist. Please. You’re free to use it as you wish. If you change your mind about the card, I promise I won’t look at the statement when it comes.”

Stepping out of the house later that morning was like tasting a long-deserved freedom. The day wasn’t scorching hot yet, so Jongin took the time to bask in the morning sun as he traversed the streets that led to the closest park. Inhaling fresher air, watching people exercise or walk their dogs or hurry to their destinations, listening to the faint chirping of birds—the outdoors was truly a sight to behold for someone like him who hadn’t seen the world after a certain time frame.

Teleporting without the dreaded complications was such sweet bliss. From Yeouido to Cheongdam; the busy streets of Myeongdong; the galleries of Insadong—if Jongin wished it, he arrived anywhere in a blink and disappeared just as fast. Seoul’s various streets and districts were familiar and comforting; welcomed him with their enticing sights. He could point out some differences with the alleys he knew compared to the ones he used to walk past, but those were issues trifle at most. He blended with the crowds, mingled with strangers if interaction was prompted; the spring in his step and the grin on his face unfaltering.

Jongin missed gallivanting on his own like this. And he was determined to enjoy every second.

Passing by a cluster of shops summoned an idea. They didn’t exactly cost cheap, and the guilt might not abate right away, but the boxes of traditional sweets he purchased were for a good cause. Jongin left the specialty shop, rounded a dark corner he saw, then teleported to his parents’ apartment. He rang the bell, hoping against hope Aunt Dooshim was here.

Aunt Dooshim’s face brightened like a fully-lit Christmas tree when she opened the door. Jongin thanked whichever cosmic force was siding with him out there: Aunt Dooshim’s love for traditional sweets was a preserved detail in this universe. She gasped when he presented her the boxes, gushed and hugged him. Jongin didn’t avoid it this time, willingly sinking into the warm embrace of a relative.

Over tea and saucers of sweets did they have a pleasant chat. Aunt Dooshim asked him about his arm, delighted in the positive progress. Jongin brought up the topic of having talked to his mother recently. Those were easy topics to cover. But when Aunt Dooshim asked him what he planned to do about _Chuseok_ this year, Jongin’s prolonged silence must’ve been peculiar, if her questioning blink was anything to go by.

Jongin’s apprehension melted at the sound of Aunt Dooshim’s chuckle. “Of course, of course. Silly me, I forgot you were bad with dates. Chuseok is in two weeks. You forgot again, didn’t you?” she teased.

“That’s right! Right. Yes, I forgot. Time flies too fast these days.” Jongin didn’t need to do any pretending with this one. He’d been so caught up searching for ways to return and concentrating on the healing of his arm, looking at calendars simply became forgotten. That was a close shave, but he knew he wasn’t off the hook yet. “The accident might have impacted my memory harder than I thought.”

He was curious why Aunt Dooshim asked him about Chuseok. Back home, Jongin spent the holiday with his family, no questions asked. Training and competing took so much of his time, so he treasured this holiday and utilized those days to make it up to them. Usually, they would take a trip to Suncheon. Those were the days Jongin would get to see Aunt Dooshim after a long time. If they had a little more saved, a vacation out of the country was the unanimous decision. If not, they would postpone those trips for _Seollal_ , especially if the schedule didn’t look favorable.

Aunt Dooshim bought the excuse, face softening. Jongin wondered if his other self’s memory with dates was _this_ bad. The forgetfulness seemed to happen too frequently no one would suspect if he was fibbing. He also wondered how long to keep lying or using the accident as an excuse to get himself out of sticky situations.

Aunt Dooshim nodded sympathetically. “I see, I see. That will explain it. I don’t think Sehun will mind if he can’t eat the _songpyeon_ you make this year.”

“What?” Jongin didn’t think he heard right.

“Around this time of the year, you’ve always looked forward to making songpyeon with him. Something about husbands bonding over the food making process. You always made it no matter how busy you got with ballet. But it can’t be helped this year since you’ve broken your arm. I’m sure he’ll understand. Sehun makes good songpyeon, too; he’d be more than happy to make it for you in the meantime.” Aunt Dooshim gently stroked Jongin’s hair.

They spent more time chatting, and when Jongin found the perfect opportunity, he snatched it and requested to be taken to his old room. Aunt Dooshim, unsuspecting and affable, complied immediately.

The lights flickered to life. Jongin took a tentative step inside. His other self’s room was kept neat and tidy by Aunt Dooshim, who told him she cleaned the house if she had more time to stay in Seoul. The room itself was medium-sized and hosted the essentials. A closet to the far right housed a decent amount of clothes. Jongin internally sent an apology to his other self for snooping before examining the garments. Everything was about one or two sizes smaller. Jongin surmised, from rifling further, these were clothes his other self wore from his high school days. Simple shirts, long sleeved ones in plaid, jeans, knitted sweaters—Jongin was surprised to discover his other self’s high school taste in clothes aligned with his.

Beside the closet was a study desk and matching chair. Atop the desk was a lamp; several books standing adjacent, names on the spines hinting they were study materials. On the opposite side of the room stood a bookshelf. Trophies and plaques from various ballet competitions overseas and domestic resided there. Same for the framed certificates hanging on the walls. Some medals came from winning essays. The rest of the shelf teemed with fantasy and sci-fi novels. Jongin smiled seeing the pristine collection of Higashino Keigo books neatly filed and separated.

At the bottom of the shelf was a book with an oddly-shaped spine. Jongin pulled it out. A photo album He carefully sat on the bed and flipped through it. Various pictures greeted him between the pages, showing his other self at different stages of life: birthdays, toddler years, Children’s Day commemorative photos, first days of school. Through these pictures, Jongin was immensely reassured by the fact he still had the same number of family members and relatives; the same familiar faces, even in a parallel universe.

Aunt Dooshim supplied the stories behind this or that photo. Some memories were different. It couldn’t be helped. Jongin listened to her without interrupting, mind doing its own comparisons on what he remembered and what actually happened here: the preschools he attended, the name of his father’s first bakery, the recreational equipment placements on the playgrounds he grew up playing in, the color of his favorite raincoat. Tiny details, big distinctions.

“How are you and Sehun doing these days?” Aunt Dooshim asked, once their memory lane trip concluded. “I keep asking him if he was okay, but he insists on being fine. Nonsense. No man would be fine when his husband met an accident.” She clucked her tongue in disapproval. “He won’t blame you for forgetting, so take your time if you’re facing difficulties. Sehun is too sweet and kind for his own good sometimes. I remember past fights you both had, and he always apologized first.”

Jongin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Really?”

Aunt Dooshim nodded enthusiastically. “You two had this huge argument before getting married. If we go with specifics, it was your fault, but Sehun still made the first move to reconcile.” Her face grew serious with her next set of words. “In more recent events, when you threw a fit and ran away on your visit after the accident, Sehun was close to crying after looking in every corner of this building and couldn’t find you. My, my, that boy—if you tell him to chase you to the ends of the earth, he’ll do so in a heartbeat.” She took Jongin’s left hand and patted it with her own calloused pair. “Don’t do anything to hurt his soft, precious heart if you can help it, okay?”

Truly and irrevocably whipped—this Sehun was _that_ sort of husband, but he shouldn’t be too surprised. Jongin had been prickly, crass, damn near unbearable, and Sehun had repaid those with unconditional kindness when he had no reason to, especially after the truth came out.

On the way back, Jongin recalled the vases he saw in Sehun’s house. They’d been empty since the dried flowers were thrown out, and had been looking dull since. He stopped by a flower shop and, with some assistance, waited for his purchase outside. A couple drifted close to look at the beautiful bouquets on display at the flower shop storefront, trading smitten looks and cheesy sweet nothings that had Jongin breaking out in gooseflesh.

They weren’t the last couple Jongin encountered. For the entire afternoon, this universe seemed to conspire against him: couples everywhere he looked, regardless of location. His presence among them emphasized the type of loneliness he hardly gave a thought in the past.

It had been quite a long time since he’d been in a relationship. He’d gone on blind dates, but the interest and feelings never lasted. Lack of time to invest in a serious relationship was his usual reason for short-lived affairs. Jongin refused to pursue someone if he wasn’t serious about the other person; if it wasn’t working out, in spite of retrying numerous times, what was the point of stringing someone along and wasting their time? Besides, right now, his focus and drive were currently dedicated to further his career.

“So why not date until you find the one?” Sehun asked—innocent, curious.

That night, Jongin found himself strangely chatty and shared this, hoping it might right his tangled thoughts. They reconvened in the living room after dinner, each taking a spot on the couch with respectable distance between them; busy with their own things but paid attention if one or the other spoke. How far Jongin had progressed from being unable to share the same sitting space as Oh Sehun from his universe to not even batting an eye when this Sehun joined him.

“Seriously? I suspect it’s because I haven’t met someone that made me want to continue dating them.” Jongin paused his mobile game and frowned. “And excuse you; I don’t want to date mindlessly. I don’t have energy for that.”

Sehun hummed, flipping through the pages of a travel catalogue. “That’s true. I’d be hurt if the person I was dating wasn’t as devoted as I am. No one wants to be treated like they’re an obligation. Don’t worry, one day you’ll find someone you can’t stop thinking about, and just the mention of their name will make you smile unlike any other.”

The sentiment was overly cheesy for Jongin’s taste, but he should repay Sehun’s sincerity in kind. “Thanks. I hope so. The dating pool where I’m from is criminally small. I should ask Moonkyu to include me in the next singles party he attends.” He resumed gaming.

“I dislike using clichéd phrases, but… your extremely specific taste could be limiting the number of potential partners?”

“Is it?” Jongin made a contemplative sound. “I don’t think I have a lot of requirements, though? Let’s see… first and foremost, I have to be interested in this person. It can’t be anything neutral. I need to be able to see them in a romantic light after three or four dates. This person in question has to ignite feelings in me that can keep me interested, and entice me to pursue something more. I like a challenge, I guess you could say? I like predictability, but I do love having unexpected outcomes.”

Sehun suddenly laughed aloud. Jongin didn’t think he said anything funny; channeled it through the look he gave him.

Sehun answered the unspoken question shortly. “I was about to suggest something outrageous, but you might throw a tantrum and user your teleportation. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“I won’t know if I will unless you tell me, right?”

Sehun’s grin was equal parts boyish and mischievous. “How about dating my other self? Is he not eligible according to your standards?”

“ _What the fuck?_ ” Jongin exclaimed, scandalized. His reaction sent Sehun into another bout of laughter, catalogue on his lap slipping to the floor. Heat crept up his neck and invaded his cheeks. “You’re suggesting I saunter up to the biggest bane of my existence and ask him out on a date? I don’t have a humiliation kink; so, no, thank you!”

Dating the Oh Sehun from his universe? Not even if he was the last man on the entire planet! The mere thought of that Oh Sehun giving him goo-goo eyes… Jongin didn’t bother repressing his full-body shudder.

Sehun collected himself after a while, brushing away imaginary tears from the hilarity Jongin failed to see in the hypothetical situation. “I’m sorry; I didn’t think you’d have this violent of a reaction. Humor me, then: is my other self an enormous jerk? I still haven’t completely grasped how parallel universes work; but if I’m to go with what my husband has shared, there exists a different me in another world, who might look like me and have my name, yet possess a heavily-contrasting personality.”

Jongin nodded his head right away. “If your attitude is anything to go by, you are miles nicer than your other self. Sadly, I’m stuck with that version. It wouldn’t be an issue if he had a modicum of niceness in his body. Looks like he has the DNA where he can be nice to everyone except me.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Maybe he’s emotionally constipated? What if he’s acting aloof to conceal his interest? Isn’t that how bad boys in movies and books go?”

Mixed parts appalled and intrigued, yet Jongin’s denial was more potent. “No, I’m pretty sure he’s biased against me. Every time he sees me, he looks like he wants to be somewhere else.”

“Alright, but objectively speaking, what _exactly_ did my other self do that resulted to your animosity?” Sehun’s inquiry was curious as it was sincere. “This is the biggest mystery to me. Loathing doesn’t sprout out of nothing. How and where did it start?”

Jongin’s embarrassment robbed him of words required to explain history. To his consolation, Sehun didn’t tease him, or smirk, or did any of the predicted gestures Jongin most likely would’ve seen by now from the other one if it had been him, instead.

Sehun must’ve sensed his inner conflict, so he said, “It’s alright if you can’t tell me now. I won’t front, I’m absolutely intrigued what made you dislike my other self. It must’ve been something really horrid for you to be so averse to the idea of dating him.”

“Stop saying that.” Jongin disliked how whiny he sounded to his own ears, his face unable to settle on a single expression that wasn’t mortification. “It’s like you’re speaking it into existence. It’s creepy.”

Sehun laughed. “As you wish. Surely I can’t be that bad of a person, right?”

☆彡

If Jongin traced far back to the first meeting, he held no interesting opinions about Oh Sehun.

Jongin was made aware of his existence when whispers of Oh Sehun starting his training in the center made rounds. Up until then, Jongin only knew Oh Sehun by name and face. Subsequent information he amassed came from details released by the press, tidbits shared by his coach, gossip from colleagues who moved in similar circles.

Jongin watched Oh Sehun train numerous times. He knew Oh Sehun watched him, too, when it was his turn. Jongin didn’t think of him as a rival, though conceded he could learn some tips from him. He was unsure if Oh Sehun thought similarly; didn’t care too much about it. At the end of the day, Jongin trained hard to carve a name for himself in this fast-changing, competitive world as honorably as possible.

But then Oh Sehun opened his mouth and gave unsolicited commentary, which struck a raw nerve in Jongin, and to this day he hadn’t forgiven him for that.

It was a downward spiral from there: cold shoulders, judgmental glares, loaded gibes that caused panic to everyone around them and continuously fed the growing enmity.

Yet this universe’s Sehun had to ask questions that pushed Jongin to reassess the situation from the very beginning. Aside from a dull first meeting followed by an explosive first interaction, what did Jongin know about the Oh Sehun from his universe? What did he know about Oh Sehun’s personality away from the spotlight? What exactly did Jongin know about the Oh Sehun he competed against if, hypothetically, he looked past the hostility and harbored grudge?

Jongin’s parents taught him to always be kind and not pass judgment on someone. His older sisters were taught this, too. He prided himself in giving chances to other people and scratch past the surface of first impressions. As it turned out, he was a hypocrite for exercising these beliefs on others but not to Oh Sehun.

So, how could Jongin undo the prevailing rancor between him and Oh Sehun if it had already spread too fast and gradually poisoning them?

☆彡

Weeks prior to Chuseok, Jongin was given the clear to remove his cast. On the same day, he learned how his other self made Chuseok preparations.

Jongin’s other self maintained an annual tradition of giving presents to select friends he met at Korean National Ballet. The timing varied, but his other self chose to dole them out early to avoid rushing, mixing up gifts, or, expectedly, forgetting the date he scheduled for them. Aside from production preparations, some of these dancers weren’t Seoul natives; thus, maximizing the allotted off-days to pack up for the trip home or overseas vacation. Sehun told him what his other self usually bought for his friends; advised him to get them wrapped in the shop than doing it himself.

Jongin was amazed his other self had the patience and perseverance to wrap presents. He would never—the last time he helped his mother, he ended up ruining the wrapping paper and got scolded for it.

Remembering Sehun’s tips and suggestions, Jongin bought the gorgeously-wrapped gift sets of soju and fruits from the store his other self patronized and used the convenience of teleportation to transport everything back to the house in a flash. It would’ve been hell carrying those boxes in public transport or unloading them from the taxi. On the day of his visit to the company, Sehun expressed his intention of tagging along, citing that even with his newly-healed arm, he couldn’t carry the gift sets by himself. He could also field any questions thrown at Jongin he might not know how to answer.

Moonkyu was the first and only person to experience the thrill of teleporting. Sehun of this universe became the second. On a slow Saturday morning, they were standing in the living room, Sehun’s free hand a light, comfortable weight on Jongin’s shoulder. Then, in the next seconds, their surroundings blurred and reshaped itself to a secret corner tucked away from the main building. Jongin delighted in Sehun’s surprise, mouth open as he checked and double-checked around him; pure, childlike delight on his face.

“That was wonderful!” Sehun praised, awed noises leaving his lips as they walked out of the alley. “I felt like I was in a superhero movie. I wish I had this superpower so I could use it if I’m running late on meetings or golf sessions with the oldies. I do my best to arrive promptly, don’t be mistaken; but driving from the company to Icheon can take time with traffic. If I really wanted to impress them, it might involve breaking several traffic rules.”

Jongin chuckled at the image of old, wrinkly, and cranky businessmen yapping like angry Chihuahuas at a rushing Sehun. “Okay, fair. Let’s not go down that route of wanting to impress someone so badly.”

Jongin was acquainted with plenty types of nervousness. The one he was experiencing right now was dangerously tempting his flight or fight response. He couldn’t predict how his other self’s friends would react. If these were his friends for years, the chance they could smoke out the subtle differences was high. What if he got busted for being an impostor? What if there were questions even Sehun couldn’t answer? Jongin could always use the accident as his trump card; it didn’t mean he should like lying through his teeth, despite having used this reason a few times already.

Their visit was timely; it seemed majority of the dancers and staff was on break. Sehun’s questions led them to the cafeteria and a table at the end of the room, where three people were caught in animated discussion while snacking. As if sensing their presence, one of them raised their head. The other two followed. Collective gasps broke out. Jongin’s nervousness skyrocketed. He drew courage to move one foot in front of the other from the pure joy on these people’s faces. A positive start.

Plenty of squeals and hugging commenced. Jongin hoped none of them sensed him tensing up. They made space for them by stealing two empty chairs from the neighboring table. Sehun answered most of their inquiries in Jongin’s place:

“I kindly request not to ask him too many questions. There’s still some lingering effects from the accident.”

“His arm is healing nicely, but I don’t want him pushing himself too hard. I wanted him to take his time resting. You know how hard he works once he’s thrown himself into rehearsals.”

“It was my selfish wish for him to take a temporary leave. Some of his old injuries started flaring up after the accident. I was scared he might do permanent damage to a vital body part, and that’s the biggest nightmare for ballet dancers, right?”

The friends reacted in a mixture of synchronized nodding, sympathetic noises, cooing and fake gagging, playful rolls of eyes. Sehun’s good rapport with his other self’s friends was obvious in the way he laughed off their reactions; threw jabs good-naturedly, too. The friends seemed comfortable around Sehun and enjoyed his company if they could freely tease him like this; didn’t give him special treatment. Not many people could proudly claim their spouses jived with their closest friends.

“Oh Sehun, I am begging: if there’s anyone like you who exists out there, send them my way,” Friend #1 groused in a playful manner. “I could do with a wonderful husband if he’s anything like you.”

Sehun laughed, red in the cheeks, bashful as he was flattered. “Sorry, I’m one of a kind, and I’m already taken. But who knows, you might find someone in your hometown during Chuseok.”

“Stop being delusional,” Friend #2 teased. “Even if Sehun had a twin, or there existed three of him, all of them would only have eyes for Jongin.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Sehun would look at anyone else,” Friend #3 agreed. “Even if he was single right now, he’d be helplessly in love with Jongin.”

Jongin pressed his lips tightly together to keep himself from retorting that there was, in fact, an Oh Sehun existing out there who would _never_ be helplessly in love with him.

The gesture was probably misinterpreted as something else. The dancer friends caught it, and suddenly Jongin was thrust in the spotlight as the new center of jokes.

“God, okay, we get it. _We get it!_ You’re happy and in love, don’t rub it in further into our faces.”

“Gosh, Jongin, you really like it when your husband gets cheesy in front of you, huh?”

“Oh, look at him, look at him! So red in the face and not refuting a single word spoken! Please, if any god is listening to me out there, let us lonely singles be blessed with a relationship like theirs.”

Conversation flowed and ended once break time was over. They thanked Jongin for the gift sets, urged him to hurry up so he could join them on tours and the stage again. Bidding them goodbye, Jongin felt almost sad to see them go. The interactions had been limited, and his nervousness prevented him from enjoying things until the last minute; but he could safely say his other self’s friends were fun, warm individuals in the way they sincerely conveyed their well-wishes. In a cutthroat field like ballet, an injured dancer taking time off meant opportunities for others. Friendships could feel more like alliances; shallow at best, nonexistent, at its worst.

“I should no longer be surprised, but I am. I didn’t expect you and my other self to be the paragon of an ideal marriage,” Jongin commented, upon leaving the company and teleporting to Cofioca next. Sehun’s pleasant surprise showed on his face, and he wasted no time in dragging Jongin inside.

“Do you think so?” Sehun’s bashful smile returned. The dazzle in it reminded Jongin of flowers that glowed when the sun touched them with its beams. “If you take into account what my husband and I have been going through recently, you might have to reconsider that opinion. It does feel flattering being thought as such.” He sipped his favorite chocolate bubble tea drink. “I can’t blame anyone for thinking that way. The country’s divorce rates are sky high and increasing by year. People are finding it more advantageous to live together than make anything formal. Marriage doesn’t seem as grand and sacred like the media paints it to be. I do assume others talking about us that way is correlated to the bad rep rich folks get. That we do get married but have so many affairs on the side. It just doesn’t get aired out because money talks.”

Jongin stirred the ice cubes in his strawberry colada. “There are many rich people out there who can make their marriages work. Not all of them are rotten.”

Sehun smiled, albeit subdued-looking than his first. “I don’t care what they say about me. My affairs are my own, and no one should meddle in my personal business.” His brows furrowed. “I’m more concerned about my husband. He’s had a lot of things said behind his back that reached him. Not in his workplace, but it came from people on my end.”

Jongin’s blood pressure stirred to life; so did indignation on behalf of his other self. The drama clichés of his other self’s life just wouldn’t stop coming, would it? “Say no more. I can make an educated guess on what things have been said about him. He doesn’t come from money, so of course your marriage is going to be questioned by these nosy gossipers.”

Sehun hesitantly nodded his head. “As I said, I don’t care what they say or think about me. I don’t bother other people, or talk bad about any of them. My conscience is clear. I tell my husband not to listen to naysayers and their nitpicking. Sadly, it gets to him sometimes. I wish people were more careful of what they say, or be civil when interacting with him on social functions.”

“Wow.” Jongin’s blood pressure was dangerously rising. No one should get away talking shit about his other self in this universe. “Those vultures better be glad they haven’t met me yet. I would never stand for this kind of treatment against me. Or my other self.” He also questioned why his other self didn’t say or do anything to defend himself, but Jongin knew he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. He wasn’t in his other self’s head, and there were other ways to show one’s strength. “When your husband comes back, you had better drill into his head that at the end of the day, these vultures can hiss and grunt all they want, but you chose him for a reason—or many—and they will deal with that.”

Sehun’s eyes crinkled in glee; released a laugh in the same vein. “No need to remind me. I always do that. And I’ll do double when he comes back.”

“Good.” Jongin noticed the slight glint of sadness in Sehun’s eyes after his response. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m trying to figure out how to get back. Haven’t forgotten about that.”

It wasn’t that Jongin had stopped looking for solutions. For many nights, he had obsessed over the day of the accident, trying to make out the fuzzy details of the wish that brought him here. Some days, Jongin attempted replicating his determination from that day. Failed spectacularly. He could admit to himself that if he had wished hard enough on the first day he woke up in the hospital, he might have long returned to his universe. Yet he had known too late he was no longer in the Seoul he had grown up in, exacerbating existing problems he wasn’t aware of at the time.

Jongin’s search for elusive answers took a backseat when it was Sehun’s turn to give presents. As director, Sehun had to distribute triple the number of gift sets; had to be more varied according to who was receiving. Important business clients were easily pleased by the divine offering of Hanwoo beef. Valuable employees and immediate staff would be given financial bonuses aside from the high-end brand ginseng and tea gift sets. Sehun believed hard work should be rewarded accordingly. Everyone who worked under him this year showed exceptional performance, especially during this busy season where the office became a battlefield trying to get as much work done before Chuseok officially kicked off.

The presents arrived by batches, delivered right to the doorstep after Sehun placed numerous calls. Jongin had never seen so many expensive gift sets gathered in one place. He knew the prices of each one; he’d been sitting beside Sehun when he showed him pictures on his iPad. Jongin wished he could scrub his eyes clean after seeing the amount of zeros attached to the gift sets. He wouldn’t be able to afford any of these with his current pay. A sobering reminder of Sehun’s immense wealth.

The beef was a little difficult to part with. Jongin had only seen Hanwoo beef in advertisements, heard stories from friends who were blessed with good fortune by the gods to have a taste of it. He couldn’t help glimpsing longingly at it so many times when he and Sehun loaded the gift sets at the back of the car. Restraint proved hard when a box of the most expensive beef was right in front of him but couldn’t eat.

So when Sehun arrived home from work one night, Jongin wondered why he was carrying a large box of the same Hanwoo beef. This one seemed to contain generous portions compared to the first batch Sehun had already given away. He didn’t think much about it, assuming Sehun might give away the beef to a cranky, yipping businessman he beat at golf.

“The beef is for you, actually.” Sehun took off his necktie and dress jacket, draping them on the back of a chair. He rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt then washed his hands.

“ _Me?_ ” Jongin squawked, incredulous.

“You’ve been giving the beef gift sets forlorn gazes since they were delivered and dispatched. I just went ahead and ordered another set from a good friend. It was delivered to my office today—quite fast of them in this busy season. I guess it helps that friend and I go way back. And, well, I told them a friend from far away seemed so interested in its taste.”

Jongin burst out laughing. “Indeed, I am your friend from far away. _So_ far away not even your good friend or any Seoulite in this universe would believe it if I told them the truth.”

Inviting himself on a stool by the island, Jongin was treated to a view of Sehun’s meticulous preparations, from selecting the right vegetables and side dishes that would complement the beef, down to the cooking itself. Soon the kitchen was filled with a mouthwatering aroma and roused Jongin’s hunger pangs. As he watched Sehun move around the kitchen with ease, he remembered what he told him about his other self being the better cook. If Sehun was this skilled, it meant his other self was thrice more. In a way, Jongin felt compelled to try and improve his culinary skills.

It also incited envy for his other self. Staying here caught in the limbo between living as himself and taking on someone else’s identity in dire situations, Jongin mused what it was like to have someone to rely on and cook for you. Do laundry with. Browse every aisle in the supermarket and bicker over which ingredients were better. Have conversations about everything and nothing over street food at ungodly hours. Jongin couldn’t predict his future in relation to this; but if he had any luck left and it was meant to be, he wished to have this kind of relationship where he and the future partner could be themselves around each other comfortably.

Jongin had never seen so much beef in his entire life. If he ordered this in a restaurant, he’d probably foot the bill by becoming a part-time dishwasher for the next three years. Buying this beef simply wasn’t possible right now with his current earnings.

Jongin had never eaten so much beef in his entire life, either, but he was going to burn it right off once he resumed full training. One advantage of having his right arm back to its functional state was unhampered eating. Sehun facilitated the process by slicing the beef into chunks that could easily be picked by a fork or chopsticks.

“Everything was good!” Jongin couldn’t help gushing at the end of the meal. He leaned back in his chair, patted his stomach, and sighed in utmost content. “I can’t remember the last time I had beef this good… It’s just so expensive. Having it once in a while is great. It helps you’re a wonderful cook.”

Sehun looked satisfied by the praise. “Thank you. I’ve said it before, but my husband is the better cook. I do take pride in being able to prepare steak just a little better than him.”

“Yeah, well, you sure proved it, even if I haven’t tasted anything my other self has made. I should really try and improve my own cooking skills.” The fullness of a good meal was making Jongin a little drowsy. “I wonder if there’s any way to take back a box of this beef set to my world for free and then eat it bit by bit.”

Sehun’s responding laugh was loud and hearty. “Be my guest. How many boxes do you want?” The brightness of his expression dimmed a bit when he said what made it so. “I do pray my husband is eating well and safe from sickness and harm. He likes steak, and meat in general, but he might not have the means to buy it where he is.”

Jongin slowly straightened up in his seat, feeling a little conscious and a whole lot guilty. How could he enjoy a sumptuous steak while he had no idea how his other self was faring?

It took days for the guilt to subside. Jongin understood Sehun didn’t say that to spite him, or induce any negative feelings in him. Repeating this to himself kept his overthinking side at bay.

In the same span of time, Jongin noticed the _doenjang jjigae_ tasted saltier than usual. Sehun seldom committed any cooking mistakes, so he didn’t bring it up. He didn’t catch Sehun that morning, just like all the previous mornings, since he was rushing to get work done before the inevitable comatose state of the company as Chuseok approached closer. Jongin wouldn’t say he was keeping overly-close tabs, but he noticed Sehun didn’t segregate his clothes by color in the hamper when he did laundry later that day.

Then he received an unexpected call from Sehun, asking him a favor that was straight out of a drama scene.

“Hi, sorry, but I forgot to grab a folder of documents from my study before I left this morning. It honestly slipped from my mind I would need it today. May I ask you to bring it to the office?”

“Sure. That’s when my teleportation comes in handy, right?”

Jongin’s jokes were usually received with more enthusiasm. Today’s response was a weak, watered down version of a laugh. One alarm bell started ringing in his mind.

“I’m sorry to request this of you on short notice. Where was my head this morning? I have to go; I have another meeting in ten. I need the documents before one today, please.”

Jongin thought he heard the sound of a sniffle before Sehun ended the call. A bit out of breath, too. There was no contesting the company building was humongous, but were the halls so long one would be out of breath running from one end to another? Especially with those long legs of his?

Suspicions multiplying, Jongin got showered and dressed; searched for the folder in Sehun’s study. He found it easily and was about to leave, but what stopped him was the used glass with water remnants standing on a table to the side. Perched against the pitcher was an open box of Tylenol.

Jongin cursed when he checked the mat and saw three tablets of ten were gone.

“That idiot.” Worry was a foreign feeling for Jongin to experience where this Sehun was concerned; but it was legit, and he should’ve been more sensitive on picking up the signs. How could he have been so self-absorbed? Smacking his forehead once, Jongin hurried to grab other essentials before teleporting to one of the three safest alleys nearest to the company building he’d seen in pictures.

His annoyance and worry lowered a notch when Jongin wasn’t stopped for questioning by security standing guard on the main entrance. He nearly flinched in surprise when they bowed respectfully, clearly unused to this treatment, but collected himself fast enough to hurry through the doors.

The inside of the building was expansive. People went about their business in varied states, ranging from relaxed walks to hurried sprinting. Employees wore sky blue lanyards attached to their IDs, company name and logo printed on them. Jongin was about to approach the front desk, hoping to coax out information about Sehun’s office, when a suited man in black with a muscular build blocked his way.

“Mr. Kim, please follow me.”

The security led them away from the populous ground floor to a lone elevator at the far left wing of the hall. Jongin managed to fish out information without being suspected. The elevator was a privately-installed contraption connected straight to Sehun’s office, as opposed to the regular elevators. The private elevator was meant to be used by immediate family only. Sehun personally handpicked three trusted security personnel to be entrusted with this knowledge, at the same time appointing them with the task of being on the lookout for family members and close friends to lead them here. This security personnel had recognized Jongin the moment he walked through the main entrance, contacted Sehun, and was given the go-signal to usher him to the private elevator.

The elevator stopped at the seventy-third floor, heavy doors groaning open. Instead of the usual busy hallway with a ton of people getting on and off, Sehun’s office was the immediate view that greeted Jongin. He stepped out, and the security personnel took his leave. The doors closed smoothly, floor numbers on the panel above descending.

Sehun’s office interior was spectacular and designed with a minimalist touch that was all the rage these days. But Jongin wasn’t here to admire furniture or the squeaky-clean state of every nook and cranny. He was here to deliver a folder and pry out the truth from Sehun.

Sehun, who burst into the office, looking (and sounding) a little out of breath, as if he couldn’t believe Jongin was standing right there. Behind Sehun was a man a head shorter than him in a navy blue suit, reading aloud this afternoon’s schedules. A secretary, no doubt.

The secretary saw Jongin and gasped; bowed, excused himself.

Sehun saw the folder in Jongin’s hand. “Oh, thank god. You’re a lifesaver. Those documents are important.”

Jongin stepped back and hid the folder behind him, furrowing his brows. “Tell me the truth. Since when were you feeling under the weather?”

The confusion on Sehun’s face gave way to surprise, then defeat. “It’s been two days,” he shockingly confessed. “I’m fine, though. A little feverish, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“Nothing you can’t handle? Are you shitting me right now? Tylenol is not going to completely cure your fever. You’ve been stressed and working late into the night again for close to two weeks. You need to rest and completely recuperate.”

“No, really, I’m fine.” As if to contradict his own statement, Sehun momentarily closed his eyes and pinched the space between his eyebrows, then looked at Jongin again with the weakest, most unconvincing smile he’d seen on him yet. “My schedule will be more lax after today. I just need to get through three more meetings. Then I’ll be free.”

“Have you looked at a mirror today? Do any of your staff have working eyes? Your face right now is the face of someone who is clearly unwell.”

Sehun breathed out through his nostrils. “Rescheduling is impossible this far off. I can’t push back everything. I understand your concern, and I appreciate it. But I’m fine. Honestly.” His expression softened, as if he was pleading with Jongin to understand; smiled his best smile, albeit watery. “Tell you what: if you’re really worried, you can wait for me here, and then we can go back together.”

That didn’t sound too convincing at all. Jongin knew this was just a way to appease and coax him into agreeing. But time was ticking, and every second counted. “Fine. But have you eaten? It’s lunchtime. Oh, god, you’re taking too long to answer. How could you _forget_ to eat? You’re _sick_! You shouldn’t skip eating.”

Furious, Jongin stalked forward, grabbed Sehun’s arm before he could protest, and teleported them to a _samgyetang_ restaurant he frequented often back home. The goddess of fortune must side with him today; Jongin acted out of impulse, momentarily forgetting logistics here was different. Seeing the wooden sign with faded varnish bearing the name of the samgyetang restaurant overhead relieved him a lot, to say the least.

“Eat.” Jongin set the bowl in front of Sehun on purpose, showing him he meant business. He seldom ordered someone to get things done. He was making an exception today. If he let Sehun talk him into buying his excuses, he’d probably be famished and near-fainting after that meeting. Some points needed to be driven home, even if it meant pestering the other person. “Samgyetang won’t cure your cold, but it is helpful. I’m sorry I can’t cook it for you. That’s why I brought you here. If you don’t eat, I’ll take you to Antarctica and leave you there until you learn. Don’t test me.”

Through the steam wafting from the open pot, Sehun blinked at Jongin then let out a laugh.

Jongin frowned. “I don’t recall saying anything funny.” He lightly pointed at the bowl. “Start eating. You said the meeting was at one. Clock’s ticking, Director Oh.”

Sehun scooped broth and sipped. “This is the first time I’ve seen you worked up over my health.”

Jongin’s annoyance evaporated a fraction. “You’re a friend. You think after our rough start, and the kindness you showed me, I’ll remain an ungrateful jerk? I’m better than that. And since you’re being stubborn when you look ready to pass out, I should do what I can as a friend. Friends should watch out for each other. Besides, if in the off-chance some universal alignment happens, my other self won’t forgive me for letting you work yourself ragged and ending up with a terrible cold.”

Sehun listened to him between spoonfuls of broth, tinier spoonfuls of rice and side dishes. “Thank you for being a friend. My husband often gets sick, but if it was the other way around, he starts worrying excessively. I don’t like being a source of his stress. And you’re right: he doesn’t let off people easily if they don’t stop me from working too much. He has a petty streak. And some oddness in him. He scolds mosquitoes for biting me during summers, it’s kind of cute.” Though he laughed recounting the memory, the fondness in Sehun’s face and voice was hard to miss.

Suddenly, the shop owner dropped by and set down a huge bowl of broth in front of Sehun.

“We don’t normally give away free broth of this size,” the shop owner said, answering their questioning stares and tapping at the bigger-than-average bowl, “but young man, I could tell straightaway you were sick when you walked into the shop. Pardon this old woman for being nosy. Call it a mother’s instinct, if you will. Call for me if you want more broth.” She was about leave when she stopped to add, “And young man, sorry for eavesdropping, but listen to your husband. If he brought you here and scolded you the way he did, it means he’s worried. Don’t worry him anymore and listen to his words, alright?”

After the shop owner left, Jongin nodded and folded his arms across his chest. “That’s right, listen when I tell you to take it easy while preventing your developing cold from worsening. You should listen to me, even if I’m not your husband.”

“Alright, alright. I hear you.” Sehun shook his head, smiling faintly.

To Jongin’s dismay, Sehun only consumed a quarter of the samgyetang. Sehun explained he didn’t really have much of an appetite when he was sick, or starting to feel so. Jongin bought him crackers and bottles of water from the convenience store so Sehun could munch on something light and stay hydrated between meetings.

With plenty of unwillingness, Jongin teleported Sehun back to his office. Jongin thrust the bag of items into Sehun’s arms and sternly said, “Carry that with you to all your meetings. You’re the boss; you can get away consuming these while the meetings commence.”

“Thank you. You’re a really good friend.”

“Now’s not the time to get sappy on me. Off you go. I’m coming back at six on the dot here in your office. Don’t even try to run away.”

Sehun laughed, and Jongin was about to protest on not being taken seriously, when he said, “Yes, of course. I’ll wait for you here. I’m sorry for worrying you. But I also promise to spend the weekend recuperating. Chuseok is just around the corner, after all.”

Jongin should’ve teleported back to the house after leaving. Instead, he found himself standing in front of an Emart. Purposefully.

It was the most outrageous idea he had come up with in his twenty-and-odd years of living, but it was one he was willing to risk.

Securing the pouch where he kept the envelope of money and black card, Jongin pushed and parked the cart to the side while scrolling through numerous results he pulled up online for the best and easiest congee recipe to use. He couldn’t stomach the notion of letting Sehun cook his own food when he was already feeling under the weather. Time to man up and face one of his unconquered hurdles.

Except Jongin wasn’t briefed shopping for ingredients to use on a simple chicken congee would take forever. Why did there have to be different types of rice? What was the best seasoning to use? What cuts of chicken was best for someone close to catching a cold? How many gingers did he need? Various recipes online offered different ingredients and many ways to prepare. Jongin’s mind spun opening tabs and narrowing his choices. Here he was, trying to do something out of his goodwill, and he was nothing but lost. Frustrated, he suddenly remembered Moonkyu was one call away and dialed his number. He just hoped he wasn’t interrupting anything.

He wasn’t, as Jongin found out minutes into a phone call and successfully finding the right ingredients. Moonkyu had just finished editing his video for the week when he called, so he had time to entertain his cooking-related questions. Moonkyu sounded confused at first why he kept asking about ingredients. When Jongin told him, Moonkyu let out a sound of understanding.

“Your other self would definitely scold you if he found out Sehun ate takeaway while sick,” Moonkyu said, snickering in amusement, then told him which of the three types of rice on sale to grab. “Sehun doesn’t have a lot of appetite when he’s sick, or that’s what my best friend tells me. Congee is best for him. Worry not, I shall guide you every step of the way.”

Jongin rang up his purchases using the black card. It wasn’t supposed to be his mode of payment, but it was the first item he grabbed from the pouch, and the man at the register swiped too fast before Jongin could protest. After, he teleported to Moonkyu’s living room, then transported them to the house. Side by side they worked together—or rather, Jongin followed Moonkyu’s instructions, powering through his ill-fated clumsiness. Moonkyu oversaw most of the preparations and stepped in only when necessary. It took Jongin numerous tries and retries since plenty of the kitchen tasks were unfamiliar territory. They were only a quarter of the way through, and he already decided anything culinary-related was simply not his forte.

“It didn’t stop you from trying, though, right?” Moonkyu said, almost an hour later. The light aroma of rice was slowly permeating the kitchen. “The congee’s sitting well and cooking nicely. You’ve done a good job for a beginner.”

Jongin sighed in sheer relief; sagged from it after dumping his ass on the nearby chair. “If I’m being honest, you did almost all of it. I think I ruined things more than I did them.” It wasn’t an easy thing to admit, but Jongin was nothing but candid about his own mistakes.

“Hey, now, don’t talk about yourself like that. You did great. I’m serious,” Moonkyu assured, setting the heat on low. “A beginner in the kitchen is bound to make mistakes. The ones you committed? I’ve done them before I got better. My best friend did, too. Cheer up, okay? It’s the effort that counts.”

Jongin couldn’t help scrunching up his nose. “I really could have done better, but you’re right. I don’t think I’ll be doing any cooking for a while on my return, but I refuse to be completely useless around the kitchen.”

This experience was an eye-opener. What if he got real sick in the future, and he didn’t have anyone to run to since they were all busy doing their own stuff? Jongin should be able to feed himself, at least, and not rely on eating takeaways.

“Man, if my other self appeared right this second, he’d know what to do with a sick husband. I honestly wish he was the one here right now.”

“Still haven’t figured out how to return?” Moonkyu asked, not unkindly.

“A wish brought me here. My wish probably coincided with his, and the universes thought it would make a great story to tell our grandchildren about the time we switched places. Wonderful. Jokes aside, I’m totally blank on why my other self would wish to not be here. Any guesses?”

Moonkyu hummed, a contemplative sound. He stirred the congee in the pot, and the aroma was now laced with a savory note from the chicken’s addition. “They’ve never had serious arguments—as in, the kind of serious that would have him consider a divorce. He confides in me, but even if we’re close, there are simply some things I might not know about him as his friend.”

Jongin let the words stew in his mind as he and Moonkyu cleaned the kitchen together. After teleporting Moonkyu back to his living room, Jongin returned to the house to make sure the stove was off. Then, he teleported to Sehun’s office. It was empty on his arrival. The wall clock showed ten minutes to six. Anytime now.

As he waited, Jongin took this chance to inspect the office. There was a lot of thought put into decorating this space now that he had time to take in everything. Beyond the open blinds were floor-to-ceiling windows. Looking through them, Jongin was treated to a bird’s eye view of busy, fast-paced Seoul and the magnificent Han River. Tiny lights were beginning to dot the skyline as the sun had long set, leaving behind a dark sky in its wake. Everything below that moved looked like crawling ants.

On Sehun’s desk was a typical businessman’s fare: an open laptop, screen dark and probably set to hibernate mode; piles of documents; a table name plate facing outward with Sehun’s full name and company position etched on it; a stand for two fancy-looking fountain pens, and a phone most likely connected to every department in the building. Everything was arranged neatly and positioned meticulously that the entire picture would look unbalanced if one was moved by the barest centimeter.

What stood out the most to Jongin were the two framed photographs to the side of the table. One had Sehun’s picture with two middle-aged people, which he easily guessed were his parents. He resembled his father a lot and inherited his mother’s poise, judging from the way she stood and carried herself. The other photograph was, unsurprisingly, his other self and Sehun. It looked like a vacation picture. Jongin couldn’t name the location, the only giveaway being the plum blossom trees behind them.

Jongin sighed. He wished his other self, wherever he was, would return immediately. Although Sehun tried hard not to show it, the longing in his gaze whenever he looked to any corner of the house wasn’t even hard to miss anymore.

The unmistakable sound of a door opening and closing followed by footsteps snapped Jongin out of his reverie. He frowned at Sehun sluggishly making his way inside the office; frowned more at the hand massaging his temple. Jongin didn’t need to look at his full face to know he was exhausted and might pass out. Without a word, Jongin strode midway to meet him. Sehun barely reacted despite Jongin standing in front of him.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t realize you were here already. Did you wait long? I’m impressed; you really arrived at six on the dot,” Sehun said, his smile looking more like a grimace. “Everything’s done. I don’t need to worry about work for the next two days.”

“Excellent; because you need to start worrying about yourself from this hour onward.” Jongin pressed the back of his hand to Sehun’s forehead. “You’re burning up. This isn’t good. We’re going back now, no questions.”

Jongin stuck true to his word, holding Sehun by the arm so there was no escape, and teleported them back to the house. He lightly pushed Sehun toward the master bedroom, ordered him to dress in the lightest set of clothing he owned. Sehun nodded and was about to enter when he faltered three steps inside. Jongin had no choice but to help him, reserving his chiding for later. It didn’t even cross his mind how he had just intruded on the most sacred space in this entire household until he helped Sehun sit on the bed, disapproving of his flushed, sweaty state.

“Pajamas are on the topmost drawer,” Sehun said, massaging his temples without reservation, now. “Yeah, that wooden drawer you’re facing. Oops, the drawer on the right is where mine are. Okay, thanks.” He took the pajamas and slowly made his way inside the bathroom.

Jongin, unable to stand having intruded on the place he vowed not to cross for months, hurried outside.

When Sehun joined him minutes later, Jongin set down the huge bowl of the congee he reheated. The look of surprise on Sehun’s face was priceless as it was hilarious, if not for the worrying pallor from the rising fever.

“It tasted okay when I enlisted Moonkyu’s help. I do accept we have different taste buds. I’m sure yours is different, too. Anyway, the point is that congee is suitable for someone whose appetite isn’t that large to begin with. Or currently sick. You can’t go wrong with congee.” Jongin was suddenly conscious of why he had to explain his food choice. Heat scored his cheeks, and he willed it to go away without success. “The congee won’t magically hop onto your spoon, so best to start eating.”

Jongin watched, with growing trepidation, Sehun dipping the spoon and bringing it to his lips. He didn’t say anything after the first spoonful. Didn’t say anything for the second, either. Jongin wasn’t sure if he was going to be hearing anything, although it did secretly relieve him to see the congee steadily decreasing in the bowl.

“That was good,” Sehun remarked, after the very last spoonful. He held out his empty bowl to Jongin. “I think it helped me work up an appetite. I suddenly feel like I can eat another serving.” His eyes crinkled, mouth curving upward as it did so.

“Look, I’m not sure if you’re being polite, but can I be confident about the fact you haven’t gagged yet?” Jongin ladled more congee and earned himself a laugh.

“My taste buds are working fine. The congee’s a little thin, but that’s just my personal preference for a thicker consistency. The chicken breast tastes good, although I’m more of a drumstick person. I don’t think you can go horribly wrong with congee. You should be proud of this achievement. I’m serious.”

Jongin would’ve doubted Sehun’s words if not for the overflowing sincerity in them. Sincerity was very hard to fake. Sure, maybe the critique about his first-time congee was more watered down out of suspected politeness, but Jongin was going to take it as a win.

A near-empty pot later, Sehun looked a little livelier; more color returned to his cheeks. Jongin shooed him away to rest and leave the dishwashing to him. He had just put the last bowl on the rack when he heard the master bedroom door open. Footsteps; then Sehun was standing by the kitchen entryway, looking uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Yes?”

Sehun startled. “Oh, well, it’s… I just wanted to make myself a cup of citron tea. I remember seeing a jar of it in the cupboard above the sink. It’s what my husband usually makes when I think I’m coming down with something.”

“I can make it for you if you want.” True to form, a jar of citron tea sat inside when Jongin checked. There was, however, no hot water. “I’ll bring it to you after I finish boiling water. Don’t look at me like that—I _do_ know how to boil water, you know.”

Ten minutes later saw Jongin carrying the mug and stopping three paces away from the foreboding door in front of him. God. How could it slip from his mind stepping inside the master bedroom a second time was _not_ something he should do? Well, whatever; he was already here, the mug was piping hot, and he had no desire scalding himself in his rush to hightail out of there. Traversing the last three paces, he knocked twice to announce his presence; took a deep breath when Sehun granted him entry.

Sehun sat propped up against the bed’s headboard, lampshade on beside him, its soft amber glow lending light in this otherwise dim room. The huge flat screen television propped up on the wall was also on and provided more light. Playing on the screen was a foreign movie with subtitles. Jongin recognized neither movie nor language. Not that he had any intention of staying long to find out.

Sehun smiled when he neared, lowering the volume as he thanked him. Jongin stood by the bedside awkwardly, but he couldn’t help his eyes from roaming around. The master bedroom looked like something out of a home design magazine: tastefully decorated, constructed with style without sacrificing comfort. Regardless, Jongin felt highly uncomfortable lingering in a private space for too long.

“I’m leaving now,” Jongin told Sehun, taking the empty mug with him. “Make sure to stay hydrated through the night. You have the Tylenol within reach. If there’s anything you need, I’ll be at the guest room.”

“Does staying here make you restless?”

The sincere inquiry took Jongin aback. “What do you mean?”

“You get so skittish when the master bedroom is involved,” Sehun said, curious, not accusatory. “Does it feel strange seeing wedding and couple photographs of your self in this universe?” His smile was soft around the edges.

“That’s one reason, but not the biggest. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the feeling of seeing myself and the bane of my existence swapping besotted looks. Even if it’s technically not me, and you’re the better version of him. I avoid this room like the plague since it feels tremendously intrusive to set foot in a space not meant for me. I’m just making an exception now because you’re currently sick. Otherwise, there’s no way in hell or any other universe that I’d come in here out of my own will. No, sir.”

“That’s very considerate of you. I appreciate it a lot,” Sehun remarked, and his smile looked livelier than previous. “I’m not sure what my husband will think of his other self coming here. But I’d like to assume he wouldn’t mind since it was for practical purposes.”

Jongin nodded, tenseness fading. “Now, if said husband could _finally_ come back, that’d be awesome. It’s time he and you have that talk and reconcile and make up and be grossly domestic.”

This time, Sehun released a full-blown laugh. “I would love for my husband to come back now. I want us to talk about the months-old misunderstanding and settle it.”

“I still can’t believe your misunderstanding played out like some nighttime drama plot twist, but you know what? After everything that’s happened, I shouldn’t brush off anything so casually anymore. The clichéd stuff I scoffed at? They might not happen to me, but it could to my other selves out there in parallel universes I might or might not visit.”

“Who says it can’t happen to you?” Sehun teased with a light smile. “What if my other self in the universe you came from might get promoted from being the ultimate nemesis to something else? Not necessarily in a romantic context, of course.”

If Jongin was told this months back, he would have vehemently denied it (and vehemently cursed the person who proffered the scandalous notion). How far he’d come from explosive reactions to simply making a face.

“I mean… there are many possibilities,” Jongin conceded, slowly, after a considerable pause. His metaphorical hackles still raised on reflex at the slightest mention of being involved in any sort of way with Oh Sehun. Yet the epiphany he received many nights before this helped him reach a newfound enlightenment. “Maybe the Oh Sehun in my world has you to thank that I’m even remotely considering my stance on him. Or considering getting to know him at all. It wasn’t a good revelation to find I had been cruelly unjust to him. But if my advances are refused, can’t say I didn’t try.”

“You’re considering. That’s already one huge step to progress.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t know what will happen,” Jongin said, shrugging. “Whatever. If it happens, it happens. I’ll try not to be too hostile when I see him again. Whenever that is.” Sighing, he turned around to head for the door.

Sehun spoke up before he could completely walk out the door. “You know, whatever happened between you and my other self might just be one huge, exaggerated misunderstanding. I do pray your situation is salvageable no matter how long your situation has gone on. That all hope is not lost. The entire time you stayed here, if I set aside your major differences with my husband, I see you as an understanding and open-minded person like him. Qualities like those should never be taken for granted. I hope you remember that, from me to you as a friend.”

Jongin felt warmed by the words. “Thanks. You’re not bad yourself for a friend. If your other self was half as tolerable and friendly as you, maybe I won’t be too averse to the thought of befriending him. Ah, now I _can’t_ wait to go back and settle this score. I’ll leave you to rest now. Good night.”

“Good night. Rest well, too. Thank you for today.”

Freer and more at peace with himself than ever, Jongin repeatedly wished to the forces responsible for opening and closing the parallel universes to listen and return him where he belonged on his way out of the master bedroom—

☆彡

“—and that’s how I teleported back to this universe, right in the middle of your living room, because I just technically switched places with my other self.”

It took more or less three hours to recount everything from the start, but Jongin thought he owed Moonkyu the truth, especially after shocking his best friend to the tips of his hair and probably shaved off ten years from his expected lifespan.

Moonkyu had been quite the enraptured and responsive audience, quiet throughout the long tale, but also asked questions at the right times. After overcoming the initial shock it was the real Jongin of this universe who appeared in his living room, he was further convinced when he noted the difference in clothes and asked him to list three secrets about himself he had only confided in him.

Jongin passed with flying colors.

Foregoing precious sleep, Jongin launched right into the long, unbelievable story that would’ve surely earned himself pressing questions and painfully polite inquiries if he required a special kind of help.

Moonkyu was quiet for a few moments drinking his tea; refilled his cup, shook his head. “I still can’t believe parallel universes are real. You’re the living proof of it. And to think your teleportation powers got an upgrade? Wow!” He shook his head again; refilled his empty cup for the third time. “Kim Jongin, you are truly one of a kind.”

“Yes, I am. But also, thanks for not freaking out like most people would when you saved my other self from what could’ve been a traffic accident.”

Jongin was right to hope that Moonkyu would be the first person to cross paths with his other self. According to Moonkyu, he was headed home after dinner and one round of drinks with friends from the culinary academy he worked at as a teacher. He happened to remember running out of his favorite snacks and decided to buy them from the GS25 across the street rather than the one at the subway station when he caught sight of a traffic accident. There was a crowd of tense onlookers, police redirecting traffic and trying to maintain order, an ambulance with its noisy siren and rotating red light. Moonkyu fought his way to the front, struck by an unusual and unexplained curiosity; found Jongin’s other self sitting dazedly at the back of a second open ambulance, unresponsive to the medic asking him questions. Moonkyu didn’t think a switch happened at the time until he saw Jongin’s other self wearing a ring around his finger.

“Right there I thought something was off. You were never one for accessories,” Moonkyu said. “I kept the assumptions to myself first. But when we reached the hospital, and your other self was asked for anyone they could immediately contact, he confidently stated we should call for his husband, Oh Sehun. Knowing your history with him…” He trailed off, ensuing silence loaded with questions.

Anyone who knew either Jongin or Oh Sehun would be knowledgeable about their infamous history. But this wasn’t his concern right now. Jongin had to know of any and all noticeable changes during his other self’s stay here; if anybody noticed something was off; what he did here and how he acted on certain situations.

Currently, Jongin was just immensely grateful and relieved of his miraculous return to his own universe. Nothing was as gratifying as searching up his own name on Naver and _finally_ seeing the expected results, articles and pictures and all. As much as the other universe had been a rollercoaster adventure, the sense of normalcy he deeply missed was now returned to him.

Perfect timing, too. His right arm was all healed up. Jongin couldn’t wait to dive back headfirst into the universe he grew up in; the world he was determined to change.

Over the course of the following weeks, Jongin slowly eased himself back into his usual routine. The life he knew and led. Thanks to Moonkyu’s firsthand anecdotes, he figured out how to act and what to say to certain individuals his other self had come into contact with. Much to his amusement, Moonkyu and his other self had agreed that using the concussion card was the best way to escape tricky situations. Jongin’s involvement in the traffic accident from months ago had become a hot topic within his circle. Although it was true he had suffered a minor concussion, they might or might not have overplayed that card one too many times in the span of three months in order to save Jongin’s other self from probable humiliation and undesired questions.

Chuseok came and went. Jongin spent it with his family like usual. He welcomed the doting of his parents and sisters, the little ones he always babysat and played with when he had the time. As his family and relatives sat down to have a meal after paying respects to their relatives, Jongin’s mind wandered to the other universe. By now, his other self and Sehun were probably making songpyeon together in their large and cozy kitchen.

Since returning, Jongin didn’t have much time to reminisce about his days in the other universe, too busy catching up with exercising and workout routines to get back in shape; extracting as much information from friends and colleagues. Although the life in the other universe had been splendid and ideal, even if he might never know the greater forces’ purpose for doing the switch, Jongin understood and accepted he wasn’t sent there to snatch his other self’s place or become his replacement. He was sent there to open his eyes and mind using a bizarre situation to introduce a wildly different perspective. Showed him that in another corner of the universe, his life followed a dissimilar path from the one he nurtured here, even if Jongin might not agree with it; even if it was not with the person he wanted.

Although his experiences from the other universe taught him invaluable lessons and created unforgettable experiences, Jongin wished, from the bottom his heart, his other self and Sehun’s relationship would last a long, long time.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t heard or seen Oh Sehun yet. It would be strange to ask around so casually like the past few years had been magically expunged. History couldn’t be rewritten as he pleased, but Jongin recalled the vows he made to himself in the other universe, and he was one to keep them.

Post-Chuseok meant returning to training. Jongin woke up early, beating his alarm a few minutes shy of seven in the morning. If there was something he carried over from the other universe, it was having his body clock prodding him awake on the same time. No one was going to cook breakfast for him here, so Jongin sorted to his old ways of preparing a simple toast.

The next few hours would see him doing light chores in the apartment, showering, and then embarking and arriving at the one place he absolutely missed.

The national training center was as magnificent as ever since he last set foot inside. Athletes walked to and fro their destinations, some hurrying to their designated buildings. Jongin took in the familiar faces despite not knowing their names; the buildings and trees he’d enjoy gazing at while he went on his merry way. Each step took him further inside and down the paths he had walked a hundred times over, memory acting as compass.

A short sprint sped up his arrival at the specialized building for figure skaters. In the locker room, Jongin shucked off his clothes with excited impatience. The first slide of the material of his skating pants against his skin made him sigh in bliss. Although a bit apprehensive of how he would do out there on the ice, he gained confidence from his meticulous preparations leading up to today. Three months was a relatively too long a time to be gone. He could only pray he hadn’t lost his touch; prayed harder when his coach, Noh Yongmin, gave him a look heavy with expectation on their first meeting since Jongin’s return. While Jongin was lacing up his skates, Yongmin told him he needed to catch up since he was out of commission for three months.

“That was splendid, Jongin!” Yongmin blurted out, sounding genuinely surprised, after two hours of training. “It’s like you’ve never taken time off the rink! I’ll be damned—at this rate, you could be called an ice skating genius!”

Jongin gently toweled the sweat on his forehead. Three long months had passed, indeed, yet the moment he set one foot on the ice, his long-slumbering instincts sparked back to life. He did some on-ice warm-ups; once done, Jongin and Yongmin discussed how to go about today, then segued to his first training session for the day. Since Jongin wasn’t competing, they would do four hours of training every day, broken down into two sessions. The morning session ended too fast for Jongin’s liking. Reinforced his longing for the ice, the training, in those three months he had broken his arm and had to concentrate on healing.

“How’s your head doing?” Yongmin asked, after covering and rectifying everything needed for the afternoon training session. “Is it okay? I was scared it was going to affect your balance or skills in the future. That doesn’t seem to be the case.”

Jongin bought himself time by guzzling water if only to stop himself from blurting out what he actually suffered from was a broken arm. For the sake of following one linear narrative built by his other self, he simply shook his head and assured the concussion wasn’t hiding any long-term effects or delayed symptoms. They were about to conclude their discussion when Jongin caught movement from the corner of his eye.

Oh Sehun’s presence was unmistakable as it was commanding entering the ice rink, coach in tow. The rink was free to be used by any figure skater and coach as long as they were registered in the official system. To employ fairness, athletes and coaches needed to reserve slots ahead of time and take turns using the rink. Some athletes’ schedules aligned with others if slots were full and they were okay with sharing. Often the solution was taking turns. Jongin didn’t mind sharing the rink with fellow figure skaters. Yongmin thought the opposite, which explained why he often acted like a Hunger Games participant in the awe-inspiring way he snatched rink reservations.

But times had changed. If either Jongin or Sehun particularly requested it, the association would grant it and willingly adjusted to their requests and demands. Jongin was a rookie no longer, having long moved past that rank. After numberless hours of hard work, tears, bitter defeats and sweet triumphs, he now sat on the top of the list of most promising ice skaters in the country. The nation’s treasure, as the media dubbed him, after he snagged the coveted gold medals in the previous Winter Olympics.

A new contender rose to challenge him in the form of Oh Sehun, the so-called figure skating royalty, who blazed a fiery trail winning in overseas competitions. After gaining international fame, somehow, fate led him here to South Korea and had him competing head to head against Jongin.

Staying where he stood from a safe distance, Jongin watched Oh Sehun fix his gloves, nodding at something his coach was telling him. Perhaps Jongin wasn’t being subtle, or maybe he sensed someone was looking at him, but Oh Sehun lifted his head and looked his way. Jongin almost glared—a reflex reaction borne from past encounters—but caught himself in time.

Instead of the normal nonchalance in expression, Jongin saw the mildest furrow of Oh Sehun’s eyebrows, stare disconcertingly appraising, as if trying to figure out something in mind. Jongin thought something was going to change in the entire duration their stares were locked.

Surprisingly, it was Oh Sehun who broke eye contact by turning away and returning inside, ignoring his coach’s confused calls for him to come back.

“Huh, now isn’t that strange,” Yongmin commented beside him, reminding Jongin he wasn’t alone. “Usually, you’d be muttering insults and curses under your breath by now. What’s the matter?”

Jongin wasn’t sure if he answered Yongmin or not as he mumbled an excuse to rush inside and decode Oh Sehun’s bizarre reaction.

He found Oh Sehun doing warm-ups in the quiet spot at the end of the hallway. Oh Sehun either showed no indication he sensed Jongin’s approach, or he must be pretending. Jongin luckily had spare change in hand and approached the vending machine positioned across Oh Sehun’s spot. Jongin normally had no trouble making his way to the vending machine. Now, his heart rate was accelerating from uncertainty. Plenty could go right or wrong, depending on how he played his cards.

Jongin expected a taunt, a question, when he was within earshot. He slipped the coins into the slot; selected a random item on the screen. The machine whirred within; the soft thud of a dropped item. Jongin didn’t know why he chose this box of cookies. It was a good distraction. Or maybe to draw courage from as he bent to take the item.

“Hey, Oh Sehun.”

Jongin stood up straight once more but didn’t turn around. Though he wasn’t looking, he sensed Oh Sehun’s movement cease behind him for a full second, then resumed again.

“Something you need, Kim Jongin?”

Struck dumb by the absence of poison in his tone, Jongin reminded himself not to celebrate prematurely or jump to conclusions. He was going to be open-minded and deal with this as patiently as he could, right? Right. So he asked once more—

“No questions today for your husband?”

—but Jongin whirled around so fast to ask, instead, “ _What the fuck?_ You met him?”

Oh Sehun was taking a damn long time to respond. Jongin had to wait for him to complete his warm-ups before finally rounding to face Jongin.

“Oh. It’s you.”

The lack of severity in his expression would’ve concerned Jongin in the past. He kept his mouth shut for the time being, waiting for the rest of his questions, statements, commentary—whichever.

“Your spitfire personality wasn’t missed. Your other self was infinitely much calmer and sweeter.”

Outstanding. Just two sentences, and Jongin’s temper shot up effortlessly. Oh Sehun wasn’t even aiming to annoy him, which was doubly irksome. “I’m glad I met your other self, too. At least he doesn’t have ice running through his veins.”

Mild curiosity showed through Oh Sehun’s perfectly poker face. Jongin wasn’t sure if he imagined it, however—it was gone when he blinked, now replaced by contemplation. Some moments passed before he spoke again.

“In the past three months, I thought I was going mad because someone who had your exact name and face claimed I was his husband.” Oh Sehun’s mouth curved downward into a frown before saying his next words. “Now that we’ve spoken, it’s like you’ve gone back to your old self, but the other one who insisted he was Kim Jongin, too, acted so differently from you. What’s going on?”

Jongin didn’t hold back from chuckling in amusement this time.

“Boy, do I have a story to tell you.”

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Before you ask:
> 
> 1\. Yes, I have plans for chaebol Sehun and ballet dancer Jongin.
> 
> 2\. Yes, I also have plans for figure skaters Sekai.
> 
> 3\. Of course, I will also tackle what happened between figure skater Sehun and ballet dancer Jongin.
> 
> 4\. No, I cannot promise concrete dates for each installment. I refuse because I don't want to disappoint if I can't make it. Hope you understand.
> 
> 5\. I can be found on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mindstormfury/) if you wanna talk about this fic, but [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/propinquity) is also an option if you're shy.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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